Eggshells
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *AmeIta* Even bright and happy people suffer from unmoving relationships... and making new friends sometimes leads to something better. America and Italy are going to find out just how well they're made for each other...
1. Prologue

**SOY:** I decided to start posting this fanfic here, too. It's for a kink meme request I decided to fill. :) the pairing is going to be America/Italy, following the prompt offered by OP.

I know the pairing is somewhat crack and unusual, but please, give it a go… I promise, it's quite good. If I can say so, I guess.

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Eggshells**

**Prologue**

America let out an exaggerated huff as he walked down the street, not knowing where he was going; it had been a tiring day, what with all those reports to go through, and then having to do that long speech about being the hero and saving the world again –the other Nations never did anything on their own, they were _so_ uncooperative!– and he was terribly tired.

Being a huge, strong, loved Nation was life draining.

He had wanted to indulge in a glass of beer, but unfortunately, the pub closer to the congress building had been taken hostage by some of the Nations he really didn't want to meet (namely France, England and Russia, god forbid), so he was wandering around, hoping to find another promising one.

He needed alcohol.

Until the previous year, if in need of booze, he'd trick England into going to the nearest bar and chug it all down, laughing at how quickly the British could get drunk, undressed _**and**_ violent, but times had changed.

Things were… uncomfortable lately. Very much so, to the point that he had started avoiding England whenever he happened to cross paths with him, and even during world meetings, he tried to evade speaking directly to him.

England, of course, had noticed, but had not modified his course of action, simply becoming a bit more gruff and a bit less nice when he started spouting insults at his once–colony.

Alfred might have looked an idiot to most, but he truly wasn't. Not deep down, at least… not when it regarded his feelings.

'_Beer'_ he thought, eyes darting around; then he brightened up as he noticed a green neon banner that signalled the presence of a pub. It was not that far from the congress building, so he would be able to get back there and take the car to his house, but it was far enough that it would never attract England.

England preferred refined English–looking pubs, not this one.

This one looked more like a… well, something else.

It would have to do.

Pushing the door open, America was greeted by soft lights, a row of seats on the counter, and many strong–built men gulping down huge mugs of beer. Oh, the manly appeal of a pub, late at night.

Alfred cringed but decided to ignore it all for the booze.

As he approached the counter, though, he noticed with a grimace that he was not the only Nation who had opted for this pub. In a corner, sitting at one of the farthest tables, there were Germany, Prussia and Denmark chugging down beer like pros, laughing and basically being chaotic together.

On a better day, he would have joined and drowned in alcohol with them, but as it was, he needed a subdued form of booze.

Trying to fight the urge to make a hero–like appearance, he slumped at the counter with his back to the group, and attracted the attention of the bartender.

"A beer!" he stated, cheerfully.

"Uh~ that was my place~"

America tried to put together a scary face and turned around, pissed off at the interruption, only to blink in surprise when he noticed it had been Italy speaking; the Italian eeped in surprise and fear, and backed away, waving his arms in front of him.

"N–no! It's nothing! I'll… I'll go take another seat! You can keep my jacket too!"

'_Jacket?'_

Looking down to his stool, he noticed in shame he had sat upon what looked like Italy's jacket. He jumped up too, feeling quite silly, and chuckled. "Italy, here, take your seat back, I didn't mean to scare you". _'Heroes can't scare their minions!'_

Italy stopped his apologizing, blinked in surprise, then a sheepish smile appeared on his lips. He accepted his jacket and seat back and waited until Alfred pushed another stool next to his.

"Why aren't you there with them?" America pointed at the chaotic table behind them.

He didn't really feel like conversing with the other Nation, but he guessed Italy would be chatty, and it would be not that heroic of him to avoid being friendly over his own depression.

Did heroes even get depressed in the first place?

"Oh, well…" Italy fidgeted a bit, and was grateful when the bartender brought on Alfred's beer and his own.

"You drink beer?"

Italy pouted. "I prefer wine, but I'm not picky when I need to get drunk, ve~".

Which didn't sound as cool as he might have wanted.

America chugged down his first glass of beer, feeling the liquid run through his throat, leaving some sort of bitter aftertaste, and he licked his lips, wiping the remains of its foam from his chin.

Slamming the glass on the counter, he snapped his fingers at the bartender to order a second one.

"It looks I'm not the only one wanting to get drunk~"

Alfred turned around and stared in annoyance at the Italian, who was busy sipping his own beer and was not looking at him, so with a small shrug, he also returned to his second beer. Not to be outdone, Italy chugged the remaining of his own glass and ordered a second.

For a few minutes, the two simply minded their own business, each one drinking at their own pace until they reached the third glass. They didn't drink it with the huge mugs Germany and Prussia were used to lap at like dogs, so it wasn't half the amount it occurred to have them drunk.

"You didn't answer me" the American pressed his elbows on the counter and returned his attention to the fellow Nation; the beer, although still too little to affect him, had at least mellowed his annoyance, and he felt prone to some light speech.

"Ve~?"

"Why are you drinking here, alone, and not with them?" he pointed a thumb at the three drinking fiends with a raised eyebrow.

Italy's eyes flickered in that direction, mainly on Germany, who was by now rolling his sleeves up and chugging down what looked like his sixth pint of beer, and sighed.

"It evolved into a challenge" he stated, as if it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "They're trying to drink each other under the table –again".

"And this is wrong because…?"

Italy attempted a glare, but it came out more as a pout than anything else, and resumed his sipping at the beer.

"… it's complicated" he muttered finally, low enough that America had to strain his ears to hear him.

It was quite strange, to watch Italy being so subdued, but there again, America himself was acting a bit differently. Not that it mattered much. Not that he cared.

He was just there for the booze.

"Stupid England" he muttered.

Italy stared at him, curious, then shrugged.

Both fell into some sort of comfortable silence after that, drinking their beers.


	2. Chapter 01

**SOY:** first chapter is up for you, readers! ^^ I hope you're liking this :D

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Eggshells**

**Chapter 01**

"And I think this is the last point of the day!" brightening up at his own words, and shuffling through his documents with a huge smile, Alfred pointed one finger to the sky (or the ceiling, but it was the same). "The meeting is adjourned!"

The second day of the world meeting had moved on quite faster than the first, and it had been even funnier. Mainly because a good part of the present Nations were suffering from hangover, of course.

America never suffered hangover. He barely knew the word, but it was useful to explain why Germany was pressing his head on the table, groaning in pain, why Russia was tormenting Latvia without his usual cheery smile, and why England was standing in a corner, with a blanket pulled over his head.

Where he had managed to get the blanket, Alfred didn't know.

But alas, so it was.

He bounced out of the room, ignoring the groans of relief from the nations, feeling refreshed and ready for a good work out, when–

"Alfred, wait a bloody moment!"

He winced, although not visibly, and stopped. Oh, good. Perfect.

Turning around, he faced a pale England with shadows under his eyes, who looked like he was going to get sick any moment; yet, he appeared to be able to speak correctly, which was a feat on itself.

"I need to talk to you about your bloody idiotic speech on how to remedy to the petrol demand!" England truly looked pissed off.

America felt his own anger resurface. It was not his fault that Seychelles hadn't allowed him to build a huge robot–machine to pump the hell out of those oil caves she surely hid somewhere on her islands!

That girl was a fiend with a nice happy face, he was sure of it.

"You dolt! And you consider yourself a strong nation? Learn your own borders and we'll talk then –bloody git" England was clearly about to start another shooting match, but this time America felt less than inclined to indulge.

He was getting stressed and tired of always fighting.

Their banter proved to be funny and entertaining at first, because God only knew how much he liked to rile England up, to watch him squirm, flush in embarrassment, then anger, then build the tension up until he started yelling… he counted it almost as a _foreplay_ of sorts, but it kept being just that. Foreplay.

That led to nothing.

They got angry, got a ruse out of each other, yelled and fought and then…

And then fought even more.

It stopped being funny… he didn't even know when anymore.

It was not enough, and it would never be enough, because this dancing around, this shifting and fighting, it was frustrating. America wanted something more, wanted their banter to lead to something, wanted England to stop yelling for a second and acknowledge that he wanted something more, and…

"Engl–"

"Italy! Why is there a tomato sauce stain on my… _lower back_!"

"Ve~ Germany, you were drunk and sat on my pasta yesterday night~"

America, one unable to keep his attention on something for too long, looked above England's head and stared as what had once been considered the Axis powers passed through the corridor in front of him.

Germany was blushing hard, slapping Italy's hands away from his arm as he tried to cover his lower back from prying stares, speeding up so the Italian would just drop it and _not_ try to touch his _behind_, and Japan was trying to keep up, with a soft blush on his cheeks.

"I–it's not that bad, Ludwig–san" he was saying, trying hard not to look. "You can go wash it in the bathroom…"

America chuckled, for a second forgetting about England yelling at him, and met Italy's eyes as the other nation looked up. Italy cheerfully waved at him and he waved back, only to be kicked in the side by a very enraged British.

"You better listen to me, you bloody–"

Alfred drowned his voice again whilst thinking of heroes and hamburgers, as the Axis walked away.

…………………………

Italy watched as Germany shut the door of the public bathroom close on his face, and pouted. He truly wanted to go in too and help him clean up, but of course Germany had to be prudish and not allow him to.

Just because Italy had suggested they could clean the stain without taking out his pants… it was terribly unfair~…

Sighing in annoyance, Italy slid on the ground, his back to the bathroom door, a bit like a kicked dog, and waited, closing his eyes.

He always waited for Germany, he had been for a long time.

Sometimes he wondered if he had waited so much he'd lost his opportunity…

Things with Germany… were _unsettling_.

He loved Ludwig a lot. Loved him. That kind of love that made seeing him everyday a necessity and a pleasure, that made things brighter, that made Italy cheery and clingy.

The kind of love that scared him a bit, too. He was already a dependant person, someone who easily befriended and cared for people, but this feeling with Germany held a deeper, stronger meaning.

He fought together with Germany during the war, and always remained by his side, even though everybody else considered him useless, and Germany protected him and cared for him, and Italy was happy.

But…

But he was starting to fear it was not enough.

He was supposed to be happy with just that? Was it bad to want something more?

Or want something _less_ instead…?

It was confusing, and it made him feel guilty. He had already rejected Germany's proposition once, back during the forties, but back then he had been unable to understand. He had thought that Germany had been unsure, and just confused. He had been confused as well, unsure on how to take Ludwig's clumsy approaches… and yet he had wanted Ludwig's love so desperately, he still did.

Had that been a mistake on his part? Had he accepted, back then… would things now be different?

And now… he wanted Germany to care for him. He wanted Germany to _love_ him. He wanted something more, but at the same time, he didn't want _that_. Ludwig was important to him, but this dancing around each other was hurtful, and yet both choices in the end didn't completely satisfy him…

And it scared him.

He didn't understand.

"Ve… but it hurts here~" he murmured, pressing his hand over his heart, feeling confused and alone. "I want Germany to love me but I don't want him to love me~?"

"Feliciano, did you say something?" muffled from the other side of the door, Germany softly knocked on the wood, whilst desperately trying to wash the stain away.

Italy let out a gasp and stilled, mumbling something about pasta that would erase any curiosity Germany might have had, and then felt a shudder ran through his body. Even _this_ was unsatisfying.

Ludwig couldn't notice, because Feliciano hid his confusion from him, and at the same time, he couldn't but want the German to notice.

He stood up suddenly, backing away from the door and feeling strangely pissed off. He didn't like this situation, and the more he remained around Ludwig the more he'd feel this way. And he didn't want that… he wanted to be carefree and happy and _himself_.

Why couldn't Germany notice? Was Italy so unworthy his attention that Germany took everything for granted, underestimating the depths of what Italy was, ignoring that there was a problem?

Was it too much to ask?

He turned around, ready to stomp away and calm down, and almost bumped into Japan, who was holding up a stash of documents.

The Japanese Nation blinked in surprise, staring at Italy's vaguely troubled face, and frowned. "Feliciano–kun, where are you going?" Kiku tilted his head to the side.

"O~ut for pasta~" he replied, smiling at his friend and hiding his uneasiness. "I'll be back, eventually~"

Japan nodded hesitantly and moved out of the way, resuming his quiet pace towards the main room, as Italy disappeared behind the corner.


	3. Chapter 02

**SOY:** so, chapter two. If you noticed, I've been correcting the UN label with the World label, as when I posted it on the kink meme, I kind of made this little mistake… *sweatdrops*

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Eggshells**

**Chapter 02**

America kicked a pebble, watching it roll and roll and roll, then kicked it again, repeating the process like a broken record playing over and over, and his mind easily wandered, thinking about how pebbles came to be (and if there was a huge man cutting huge stones with a hammer to make pebbles for streets).

He was, once again, in a quite bad mood.

At one point through England's scoffing at him, he had turned on his heels and throwing one of his usual cold replies with a smile, managing to run from the other nation, who had tried to chase him, smirking in satisfaction, but America ran faster.

After that, he had wandered aimlessly around, not really knowing where he was going but unwilling to go back.

Of course, he didn't want to go get booze again. It would be unmanly. He didn't drown his pains in alcohol, he was not Russia. Or England.

Oh, damn, England.

Yelling against each other, again. As usual.

He needed off. He had the whole day to spend and he didn't want to be moping… maybe he could just have a wonderful day and England could stick it up his…

'_Yeah!'_

He kicked the pebble high, picturing kicking England's head instead. He felt a bit satisfied, at least until he heard a pained yell.

"Ve~!"

Blinking in surprise, he looked up and saw Feliciano crouched on the ground, holding his forehead and tearing up.

'… _wow, that's just awesome!'_ was the first thought that flashed through his head.

Either he had a perfect aim when not looking, or the other Nation was unlucky. Maybe both!

"Italy!" America stepped forwards, about to check for the Italian's welfare, but Feliciano backed away, still tearing up.

"J–Just stay there, I'll be going –don't hurt me! Ve~ I have relatives in New York~!"

"… you do? that's great!" America slapped his shoulder, laughing out. "But I'm not here to talk about relatives around the world~"

Italy stopped shivering and looked up at him strangely, then stood up. He always kept meeting with Alfred in weird situations and America kept scaring him… not good. And yet, America was usually cheerful and nice even if strange so…

"You going somewhere?" he asked, looking around.

"I wanted out" was his reply, as America moved from happy to sulking in a millisecond. "England was bothering me and sometimes… I just can't stand being at his side".

As he said this, he inwardly cursed –Italy was probably not the right person to talk about this with… he was loud and America vaguely envied his relationship with Germany. They were so cute together and…

"Oh~ I understand how you feel…" Italy shifted from side to side. "I ju~st had to leave".

America blinked, lifting one eyebrow. "Wait, what? How would you understand? You and England are not friendly, right?"

Italy tilted his head to the side "I wasn't talking about Arthur, Alfred~… I was talking about Ludwig, ve~" he chuckled weakly, shrugging it off.

There was a moment of silence, then America realised what Italy had said and blinked in surprise, thinking that maybe he'd heard wrong. "Wait, you mean _you_ sometimes, willingly, on your own, wander away from Germany's side?"

That was a notion that America couldn't quite wrap his mind around; he had thought… he was sure it was Ludwig the one who sometimes needed some time away from Italy and his clingy attitude, not the opposite way around.

"Ve~" Italy nodded happily, glad America understood. "It's… complicated" he added, mimicking his statement of the previous night, at the pub.

"Say, I always thought your relationship with Germany was perfect… I've been quite… envious of you two" America stated. It was the truth, but he hadn't liked to say that aloud. To be jealous was not the right attitude for a hero, after all.

"Eh~ actually… I was a bit jealous that you and Arthur could understand each other so well…?"

They stared at each other in wonder.

"We always fight" America stated, frowning.

"Germany ignores me~"

"England prefers his non–existing unicorns to my company".

"Germany prefers _wurst_ to mine!"

"England yells at me and badmouths me when I'm not around" America's tone turned whiny.

"Germany never listens to what I say…"

"England doesn't even see my attempts, and if he does, he ignores them".

"Germany tolerates me but when I try to make a move, he keeps shying away…" Italy looked to the side.

"England treats me as a kid, not as an equal" America clenched his hands into fists.

"Germany protects me, but does not take into account my opinions, as if I don't count".

There was a small pause, and then both Alfred and Feliciano spoke at the same time, softly but not enough that they couldn't hear what the other said–

"I feel… I feel like we're not going to get to anything".

"I… I'm afraid I'm not _sure_ I want us to get to anything".

Eyes meeting for a split second, they fell into a strange sort of silence; both felt a bit better, because once out, what had been bottled up felt less heavy, less tormenting. And they had found that the other was not as brainless as they had first considered them to be.

"Hey, Feliciano!" America shook himself out of that comfortable silence and slapped the Italian's shoulder, smiling brightly at him "I say screw Ludwig and Arthur! Let's have fun and show them we don't care!"

"Ve~" Italy tilted his head to think about it. "You mean hang out to cheer up?"

"Exactly! We're friends, right Italy? But we never spend manly friend–time together! Why don't we do it today? To get away from those two, if only for a bit… I am sure we're going to have fun! Come on, come on, listen to the hero!"

Feliciano chuckled, then bobbed his head up and down to signal his acceptance. "_Va bene_! Lead the way!"

America's smile almost blinded Italy as he was dragged away by the overly excited American.

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**Glossary:**

_Va bene:_ that's ok (Italian)


	4. Chapter 03

**SOY:** so, a new chapter. How is this going? I hope you people are still liking!! :D

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Eggshells**

**Chapter 03**

"Bro~ther I'm here~!"

Italy Romano grunted in vague recognition, but did not lift his eyes from the book he was reading; it was terribly interesting, and it was about some what–if future, and of course he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Yes, yes, welcome home Feli" he replied, waving one hand in the vague direction he knew his brother probably was. Then, almost as an afterthought, "how was your day? Not that I care, damn it, but…"

Feli chuckled as he got to the sofa and fell down on it, peering over his brother's shoulder to check what Lovino was reading. "Fi~ne, thanks! I'm sorry I didn't warn you when I left the conference meeting~"

"No problem… I went to Spain's house" Romano turned a page, almost ready to fall back into the story, when he caught something pink and hideous with the corner of his eye and looked up, meeting a huge, pink and fluffy–looking… hippo? "… Feli? What is _this_?"

He poked at the eye of the stuffed toy, almost wary, only to have Feliciano smacking the fluffy toy right on his face, sending him backwards and spluttering in shock; it was quite soft, indeed, Romano had to give it to him, but it was still horribly girly!

"Oh, isn't it cute? Alfred spent three hours trying to get it! It's called Poppo!"

Romano rolled his eyes, scoffing. Of course, it was just another gift the potato bastard got to Italy in order to keep him away. And the hell was with that stupid nam…

His brain halted to a stop and rewound what Italy had just said. "Wait, wait, wait~" Italy looked at him in confusion. "_Who_ did you say got this?"

Italy blinked "Alfred".

A pause.

"Alfred as in… America–Alfred? _That_ Alfred?"

An enthusiastic nod.

"Wait, since when did you spend time with America, of all people?" the tone was not as accusing as it would have been had they been speaking about Germany (or his older, psychotic brother Prussia), and it was hinted with curiosity. "I thought you had planned on spending the whole day with the Potato bastard? And wait, why did America, of all people, give you this hideo… err, this thin… err, _Poppo_?"

There was something strange in Italy's eyes at mention of Germany, and Lovino caught the shift, even though he didn't know how to interpret it, then the younger of the two Italies smiled placidly.

"I lost Germany~ whilst we were going to eat something, and then I met America and he said something about us being friends but never doing friend–things~ so he suggested to have a field day!"

And just because Italy was terribly bad at lying, Romano didn't call him on it.

"Did you go to an amusement park?"

"Not at first! We went bowling! It was fu~n! And then we went to the amusement park, and there was this shooting game, and America wanted to try but he sucked ass~ so he spent three hours trying to better the owner, and in the end got this… he didn't like it so he gave it to me!"

He snuggled with the stuffed toy, looking so terribly happy with it that Romano felt his usual grumpiness vanish; he couldn't really stay angry at his sibling too long, it was a lost battle… he cared for his younger brother far too much.

"Yeah, yeah, sure" he patted the other's head and stood up, stretching. "I'll cook dinner this time, ok? I'll make you–"

"Pasta~?"

"… no, damnit! I want something different for once. I'll do ocean perch with fresh tomatoes and roasted potatoes".

Feliciano let out a happy wail, bouncing around his brother. It was a while since his brother had cooked something this delicious, because Lovino was just as lazy as he was (except when cooking, of course, but it took a lot of persuasion to have him cook and Feli lacked energy to even start his begging, most of the time) and he looked forwards to dinner time.

"Tomorrow there's another meeting" he chirped happily, as an afterthought. "Later on I'm going with Alfred to the amusement park again~! Wanna come, too?"

Romano turned around, lifting one eyebrow in surprise.

"You're going to have more of those field–days with America?"

"Of course, ve~! He spent all day trying to beat a stupid shooting game, we didn't get to go on the rides! Besides, it was fun! America really is funny~!"

The older Italy regarded his brother for a moment, trying to get inside his head and understand what the hell was going on, then renounced. If Feliciano was so happy, and was spending time with others of no Germanic descent, then it was just as good.

"As long as it's not Germany, I'm happy" he muttered, completely missing his brother's wince at his words.

…………………………

When America entered his room (all the nations shared rooms at the same hotel), he found his brother waiting for him, quite panicked.

"It's about time you came back! I was attacked by Cuba again! I was just walking down the corridor and he attacked me! You said you were trying to mend things!"

America absently looked up, only to see a quite enraged Canada wave his arms around in anger, whilst at his feet, his white bear looked uninterestedly bored. Ignoring him, he went to get something to drink.

"Are you listening?!" Matthew slumped on the floor, sighing in despair. Alfred never listened to him, it was disheartening. "Oh, right, Arthur called… strange, huh?" he stood up and reached out to America, holding out a sheet of paper "he left a few messages on your answering machine before I got there, too… he was quite angry because you disappeared".

America rolled his eyes.

Typical, after a great day spent having fun around with Italy (who knew he'd be so patient to not start a fit when America spent three whole hours trying to regain his broken pride at the shooting stall? America just had to give him the prize as a thank you then) and coming home, feeling satisfied and relaxed, that England would call to ruin it.

"What do they say?" he asked, not really interested.

"Uh, he's just yelling for a bit. He said he needed to review some papers with you for tomorrow's meeting and you didn't go, so…" Canada shrugged.

Canada had heard the messages, and really, England just knew how to yell. But at the same time, he had seemed quite put off because despite his air-headedness, America had never evaded his paperwork especially with the change in presidency…

"Well, it wasn't really important, I knew he'd manage that out without me, Mattie" America chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, then promptly erased the messages without even listening to them. "I'm up for a burger, wanna come?"

Matthew sighed, but nodded. He didn't really remember last time he had seen his brother looking this relaxed, so he wanted to keep him in this good mood.

"So, where did you go that put you in such a good mood?" he asked as the two walked down the corridor.

"Actually, I spent today bonding with Italy!"

Canada blinked in surprise. "Italy? As in, Feliciano?" the thought was a bit strange, but he guessed they were similar, in the end –both were pretty loud and cheerful and a bit air–headed, so it was expected of them to get along.

"Yup, he needed more of the awesome me brightening his day up!"

Canada fought the urge to reply something on the mean side (he was still bitter about Cuba) and followed him. As they turned the corner, he felt America straighten up and peering from behind his shoulder, he noticed the Italian brothers walking towards the restaurant area of the hotel, chatting up.

"Feliciano! And his brother" he added as an afterthought, completely unaware of Romano's glare of d00m at his ignorance. "Where you going?"

Italy waved at him cheerfully "eating! Bro is going to cook for me~"

"We're going to have dinner too" America smirked and flashed the Italies a thumbs up. "Hamburgers!"

"Ve~ but you ate burgers for lunch too… why don't you join us? I promise brother cooks good~"

"Nothing is as great as burgers are!"

Italy pouted "Pasta is! Pasta is better than burgers!"

"Good evening" ignoring his brother and Italy, Canada hesitantly waved at South Italy, who grunted but nodded at him in reply. "We do not intend to butt in at all, don't worry" he thought to add, worried that Italy's offer wasn't appreciated by his older brother.

"… nah, you can join in, I can cook for four" Romano huffed out, shrugging.

"Is it ok to go in the restaurant and ask to cook?" Canada fidgeted, holding up Kumajirou as it started shifting.

"Let them try to stop me, damn it!"

As it was, the restaurant couldn't stand a chance against Romano's determination, and the older Italian moved through the restaurant's kitchen like a pro, completely at home, whilst America, Canada and Italy remained seated, looking at him work.

Whilst they waited, America recounted the tale of his three–hours–long fight against the ducks at the amusement park, under the amused gaze of his brother, with Italy adding to the commentary.

"Ve, tomorrow let's keep away from the shooting stall, is that ok?" Feliciano tilted his head to the side "I really wanted to try the roller coasters!"

"You going to meet up tomorrow, too?" Matthew asked. He had been staring in amazement at how well those two were getting along, but was glad that his brother was making more friends than just Arthur, with whom he merely fought.

"Ve~ as I said, I really want to try the rollercoaster!"

America, who in his whole life had actually yet to try going on one, nodded, smiling.

The rest of the evening was spent comfortably, the four enjoying some time with the unusual yet pleasant company of each other; only a couple of other Nations appeared throughout their dinner, neither coming close to them, and after eating, they split up, feeling content and relaxed.


	5. Chapter 04

**SOY:** there you go, another chapter fresh out for you X3 There is, as you might have noticed, mention of other pairings such as SpaRo. I hope you do not mind. :)

I wonder, how many of you would be interested in me posting a PruIta fic here?

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 04**

"_**Gyaaaaah**_!"

"Veeee~!"

The roller coaster's cart trembled for the speed, moving quickly in a spiral over the tracks and preparing to go on a death spin, and America desperately wrapped his arms around the protective bar, throat going raw as he yelled out with all he had.

Italy had coaxed him on the biggest roller coaster of the whole amusement park, and only when on the cart, as it started moving upwards on an apparently never–ending, almost vertical lift, did he start to feel the fear rack inside him.

In that instant, when the cart reached the highest point of the coaster, and America, who was in the first row, looked down, he felt an utter, devastating fear. Then the cart moved down.

America closed his eyes, hoping he could trick his body and relax, but it was even worse –his stomach flipped terribly, causing waves of nausea to curl up to his mouth, so he opened his eyes again…

And wished he hadn't.

"I'm going to die_ee__**eeEEEEH**_!"

At his side, completely happy and having fun, Italy lifted his arms high above his head as the cart rolled off to the death spin, laughing out as it did so, whilst America yelled again, tears running down his cheeks.

Oh, he shouldn't have accepted, he should have known, he should have–

"So fu~n!" Italy laughed, throwing his hands up again.

America clutched harder to the protective bar, hoping the torture to end as soon as possible.

"_AyeeeeeeEEEHH_!"

When the ride was completed, merely a minute and a half later –the longest minute and a half of his life– Alfred stumbled out of the cart, and ran away from the coaster as fast as he could, falling on the ground and waiting for his trembling to subside.

Feliciano bounced at his side, apparently blissfully ignorant of his state, and smiled at him "the first time it's a bit overwhelming, is it~ but I bet you loved it! Wanna have another round?"

"No! No! absolutely not!" paling, America stood up and shook his head vehemently, waving his arms around "let's… let's go get some cotton candy!"

Italy's pout quickly disappeared at the mention of sweets, so he bounced towards the nearest stand, grabbing America's wrist and pulling him along.

America let out a chuckle. He liked Italy's company, it was quite refreshing from what he was used to –England was pleasant, until they started fighting, and Canada was… well, Canada. Nice, but America was quickly bored around him. Italy, on the opposite, had the gift of being completely unpredictable.

One moment he was scared of his shadow, the next he went on the roller coaster without apparent scare (actually, he looked like he enjoyed that horrible ride), the he next started talking about art, and the one after that…

"Alfre~d look! They have green and pink cotton candy~!"

Yeah, definitely, spending time with Italy was entertaining.

'_It's a shame we were on the opposite sides during war, I bet I would have had fun… I wonder why Germany is so reticent with him, though… I wouldn't mind having Italy around more…'_

He straightened his back, watching the Italian chat up with the cotton candy vendor and bribing him into getting a larger one, and smiled a bit. He liked this friendship and wanted to get it going. Definitely.

On his own, Italy was also having fun; America, opposite to both Japan and Germany (the only people he hanged out with, if you didn't count Prussia, Spain and his brother), didn't mind his chatting, his running around and his jumping from one conversation to the other –Germany especially, hated that, and often tried to force Italy in meaningful, boring conversations that led Italy to falling asleep against the wall.

With America, he could let his wild side run free, and America too, liked random chatting and running around, and it was fun. Not having to behave, but simply being himself…

That was exactly what he wanted to do –rest a bit, maybe keep away from Germany enough to understand what he wanted, and be able to go back to his pursuing with a clearer mind.

'_Ve~ I don't understand why England is always so mean with America… I know they had some problems, but it was so much time ago… shouldn't they put it behind them? Was it so hurtful…?'_

And yet, as he thought this, he realised that certain things would never stop hurting. He knew it first person, because a part of him still ached for his first love, whom had disappeared when he was little.

He couldn't expect England and America to patch things up too easily.

'_I could try to help them~'_ he thought, tilting his head to the side as he bit through his candyfloss. _'But I also like spending time with America… it's relaxing… I don't have to uphold any expectation…'_

"Tomorrow's the last day of World meeting" Alfred stole a bit of cotton candy and ate it. Somehow, despite it being a small piece, he managed to get it all on his face. Italy giggled. "What? There's nothing to laugh at, you know" Alfred pouted, looking even funnier. "Anyway, I think I should thank you".

Italy blinked. "Ve?"

"Well, because you listened to me ranting 'bout England" he scratched his nose, looking to the side, a bit embarrassed "and I had fun spending the last two days with you! We make a great team!"

"Yeah! We do~!" Italy eagerly agreed "We should hang out more ofte~n!"

America suddenly brightened up. "You think so too! Awesome!" and it indeed was. It was too bad for Germany that he could not appreciate the company of Italy, and thus, America would enjoy it instead.

The two proceeded to share the remaining sweet treat, both ending up with sticky fingers and face, and promptly turned to the next attraction, wanting to continue their day out.

"Let's go to that other roller coaster~"

"No! _Everything_ but _that_!"

…………………………

"If no one has anything to add about our last topic, I'd say we've finished for today" Germany, who had been the last to speak at the last day of the UN meeting, made a dismissing motion with his hand and started shuffling his papers together.

"Yay~ I am so hungry~" Italy stretched and clutched at Romano's arm happily, pushing his older brother up. "Let's have some pasta!"

"Italy, we have to, like, totally hang out today! You promised me to go shopping!" Poland waved his arms, trying to catch his friend's attention at the same time as trying to cling at Lithuania's arm, whilst the latter tried to shift away from Russia, who was getting creepier each moment passing by.

"

Ve~" Italy cheered at Poland, nodding in agreement, then let his hand hover on Germany's sleeve, almost as if trying to attract his attention, then stopped, hesitation clear on his features.

"Italy! Instead of that pasta, come let's grab a burger!" America, who had been ignoring England's sneers in his direction and had needed something to keep his attention away, had seen Italy's actions and felt the need to intervene.

He hadn't liked the look of sadness flashing on Feliciano's face when he tried to get Ludwig's attention.

Carefully ignoring England, who had stopped his sneering to stare at him in surprise, he bounced to the other end of the table and caught Italy in a headlock, smiling broadly. "Hambu~rger!" he chanted, poking Italy's side. "Come on, hamburger!"

Italy chuckled but nodded "ve~ for today only, I will eat hamburger instead of pasta~"

"I'm joining in!" Canada, who had, as usual, been ignored throughout the whole meeting, stood up, shifting his grip on Kumajirou, and walked towards the two, nodding at Japan as he passed by his seat.

His brother was unusually cheerful with Italy around (must be the meeting of two similar easy-going minds) and he wanted to enjoy this. It was a bit disheartening to see America being all pouty after a yelling match with England, so…

"Lovino~ why don't you come with me since your brother is busy!" Spain toppled over the table in a haste, trying to attract the older brother's attention.

Romano scoffed and pouted, but then shrugged. He had actually nothing better to do.

Germany, who had finished putting away his things in the bag, turned around when he noticed the lack of familiar weight of Italy at his arm, and blinked when he saw him chatting up with America, of all people.

He hadn't known they were that friendly, but there again, both were chatty and open, it was obvious they'd get along fine.

Shrugging, glad that for once Italy wasn't clinging all over him, albeit feeling somewhat off, he turned around and left the meeting room, nodding at Japan as he left.


	6. Chapter 05

**SOY:** I'm sorry it took so much to upload, but I'm studying for my exams and I don't have time to get online or anything. Also, since when I'm in Venice I use my new mini–laptop, which is a 10 inches notebook, I brought over my favourites but not my passwords and I forgot which I had on ff… now I remember, though.

Anyway, please, do enjoy!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 05**

America sighed, looking at his clock, bored.

Two days after the last World meeting, he was standing in his garden, not knowing what to do; usually, he'd just go bother England, but he didn't want to do that anymore. It was disheartening, and he feared that any attempt would end just as badly as all the others before that.

He was tired of it. Keeping away from Arthur would help him, probably, and maybe allow him to sort his feelings a bit.

"TV?" Tony, always wandering through his house, pointed at the TV, asking for permission. He waved at him, shrugging.

He didn't even want to watch one of his TV–shows. It was almost worrying.

'_I want to go out and have fun, but… Matthew is gone visiting Francis, Arthur is off limits… I don't even want to think about visiting Ivan'_ he shuddered, remembering Russia's scary smiles during the Cold War period (it didn't matter they were in good relations nowadays, he still was scary).

He was a hero, and friendly, and yet had no one to visit?

"Wait. There's Italy!" he yelled loudly, brightening up.

They had fun together, during the free afternoons between a world meeting and the next, and Italy, too, had expressed his desire to keep this friendship going.

Maybe he could call him!

"Or better yet, I'll go there! Yeah!"

Bouncing out of his house, and completely forgetting about England, America pointed towards Europe, only vaguely wondering where the hell Italy was –his maps didn't quite show it, after all.

Passing through France's territory was, thankfully, the best option so far, as Francis was one of Italy's older brothers, and he directed America to the right place. He had to evade Switzerland as it was, in order not to get shot, but it was worth it, because when he got to Italian territory, he was able to pinpoint where Italy's house was.

By the time he got there, it was around two in the afternoon, and he was starving.

"Ve~? Alfred?"

Turning around from the door, America smiled a ten–watt smile as he noticed Italy standing behind him, looking surprised to see him.

"Feliciano! I'm hungry, feed me!" latching himself at Italy's neck, America whined quite effectively, at the same time greeting his friend.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted company, and we had fun together, right? So I thought we could hang out more!" of course America's reasoning made sense.

Italy smiled at him, nodding. "Yeah, I had fun too~! Say, you're hungry and I was about to prepare tiramisu~! Wanna join me?" he lifted a bag America had failed to see before, which contained eggs and other things.

"Nice!" Alfred agreed with a thumbs–up.

Italy led his friend inside, offering him a frilly green apron (whilst wearing his own blue one, both reading 'Best cook in the world') and placing the bag on the table, taking out the ingredients.

"Ok chief! This time only, the hero will allow someone else to give out directions!"

With this, Alfred stared in expectation at the Italian, who chuckled.

"You can crack the eggs, is that ok?" Italy offered America four eggs and a container, whilst he filled a coffee pot with coffee powder. "Coffee~" he chanted.

"_Coffee_?" America picked up the powder bag. "Don't you use the instant–coffee instead?"

The affronted stare he got in response made him feel quite scared.

"No? oh, that's ok, I don't judge you!" he laughed out, but Italy's darkening expression made him retreat hastily, and pick up the eggs.

"Cracking the eggs!" and America slammed the egg into the bowl, smashing it, albumen, yolk and eggshell, all into a single disgusting blob.

"Nooo~!" Italy's completely astonished and flabbergasted face made America back away from the table. "You don't do it like this! you have to separate the yolk from the rest! And definitely, you have to keep the shells _**out**_!"

"Uh…" America shrugged, grabbed the bowl and turned it upside–down on the sink.

"Noo! What are you doing! I could have managed the shells out and used it for something else!"

"This cooking thing is boring" America pouted, and Italy shook his head, feeling vaguely tired. "I thought it'd be fun!"

Italy grabbed a second egg and forced it in America's hand, then guided it to the bowl, gently tapping it on the border, and then helping him open it cleanly in two parts. "You do it like this" he stated firmly, twisting America's hands and showing him how to put just the yolk in one bowl and the albumen in the other.

Smiling at Alfred, Feliciano went back to his coffee, pouring it all inside a larger bowl without adding any sugar to it.

Alfred, staring in surprise at his hands and then back at the Italian, felt his cheeks turn a bit redder, he didn't know if because of the embarrassment or what, and shrugged, managing quite fine with the remaining eggs.

"Put half of the sugar with the yolks and use that hand mixer~" Italy instructed, whilst working through his mascarpone with a wooden spoon, turning it into a soft cream.

America watched his smooth movements, trying to copy them but failing miserably, and splashing some of the eggs over his apron; Italy giggled at him, and America smiled back, feeling brighter, even if a bit silly.

With Italy ordering him around, and he trying to follow through (getting helplessly dirty in the process), cooking moved on quickly, and tiramisu was actually a pretty easy recipe; America even had fun, despite his previous hasty comment about it, and at one point he even started a mini war, throwing the cream with a big spoon and hitting Italy right on his face.

The fight degenerated quickly, spoiling the amount of cream they had prepared until the amount on them was twice the amount remaining in the bowl, and they had to stop to finish their sweet before they wasted any more cream.

"Ve~" Feliciano laughed, pushing the complete tiramisu into the fridge. "We should clean up now!"

"When can I eat it! Can I eat it now? Can I? can I?" America grabbed Italy's shirt, shaking him. "It smells so good!"

"Uh, no, actually, it needs about two hours to cool up in the fridge" he admitted, smiling sheepishly at the American.

"B–but I'm hungry _now_!"

"If we hadn't wasted out all that cream, there would have been some to eat now, ve~" Italy rolled his eyes "come on, you managed to dirty your shirt, I'll give you one!"

"But you're smaller than I am, I'll look like a hooker" America pouted.

Flushing a bit at the mental image of a female hooker with the head of America (and somehow, with the body of France, which made it even scarier), Italy grabbed him by his elbow and went to his bedroom, grabbing what looked like a giant, plain and black sleeveless vest from his dresser.

"This is Germany's, so it might be a bit big for you" he warned.

"You have Germany's clothes here? Are things going a bit better then?" somehow, he actually was interested to know the answer, even though a part of him feared a positive one.

"Ve~" Italy's lips twitched downwards. "Nope. I dirtied it last time I tried to make a milk shake and I have yet to return it… I don't think he'd mind, though".

"So things are still… bad?"

"Yeah. He keeps… evading me and yet he's still there. I don't understand. I really don't".

Feeling silly, America patted his back, trying to comfort him, and took out his shirt and apron. "Have you ever tried to cook with him?" he asked, not sure why the question had popped up, but still curious about it.

"Ve~, yes, we did. Well, not really. I cooked, he cleaned up after me… it was a bit unsettling… we don't really like the same foods most of the time, so we don't cook together".

"Hmm… we did cook together, and it was fun!" trying to cheer his friend up after his somewhat sad words, America pumped his fist in the air. "We even had a food fight! How cool is that? I bet Ludwig never let himself go like this!"

"Yeah, he's too strict for that! How's England?" then Italy winced, realising what he'd just asked. "Uh, I mean, sorry for saying this…"

America waved at him "nah, it's ok. His cooking sucks enough, but he gets really angry when you mention it, so we never tried cooking together".

The two Nations stared at each other for a moment, feeling oddly comfortable, then…

"**Siesta time~**!"

In the time it took Alfred to blink, Italy had effectively jumped in the air, flipping twice, removed all of his clothes and fell into the bed with a soft flop. He flushed and looked away, fighting the urge to slap his face, then felt a hand grab his arm.

"Do siesta with me! When we wake up, there'll be tiramisu ready as a snack!"

America thought about it for a while, but since the reasoning made enough sense to him, he nodded. "I'm borrowing a bit of your bed then!" and jumped down as well, making Italy bounce and let out a happy 've!'.

"Just cover yourself" America hurriedly added, pushing the covers over Italy's naked body.

Then both fell asleep, feeling quite contented with the situation.


	7. Chapter 06

**SOY:** another chapter out of the batch :3 as a warning to those who read this for the first time, this fanfic will have a total of 16 chapters. Have fun following this through!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 06**

"Feli! The phone!"

Italy let out a quiet grumble, not taking his eyes away from his book, and waved in the random direction of Romano's voice. "You go" he replied, vaguely pouting.

He turned the page, eating through the chapter, and then checked back to another book he kept on the table, nodding to himself. He was making a good effort, because he was a fan and he wanted to be able to enjoy himself fully…

The phone kept ringing.

"Lovino~ I told you to go answer it yourself!" he whined, shifting on his seat.

"Damn it!"

He heard shuffling, but his attention was once again on his book.

"_Pronto_?" Romano growled to the phone, hoping against hope that it would not be the potato bastard demanding something of his brother. He was ready to shut the call off if that was the case, and–

"Oi, is that Italy's house? Feliciano~!"

Romano blinked, staring at the receiver as if it was about to bite him. "… America?" he asked, hesitantly looking to the side, where Italy's attention had momentarily switched from his books to him. "Alfred?"

"Oh? Is that you, Italy's brother?" America happily ignored Romano's enraged reply _'it's Romano! Ro–ma–no!' _"Can I talk with Feliciano? Go give him the phone! Come on! Be a good brother!"

Romano twitched "go fuck yourself, damn American!"

"Aww, don't be mean, Italy's brother! I just want to know if Italy is up for some more hanging out!"

Lovino sighed and rolled his eyes, mumbling a few insults at the expense of the American, and turned to Italy, who was waving at him. "I don't think he'll be free, at least not for today, or tomorrow…"

"Oh?" America's tone was so severely disappointed that Romano even felt vaguely guilty. "That's… that's too bad… I thought…"

"He's busy re–reading all of his damn books for the damn movie, he wants to be able to pin–point all differences" Lovino whined, growling at Feliciano, who pouted. Lovino felt ignored and he didn't like it when his brother ignored him. "There's gonna be a premiere the day after tomorrow and he wants to go watch it".

A moment of silence met him from the other end of the phone.

"You mean… are you perhaps talking about Harry Potter and the Half–blood prince?" there was a vague interested tone in America's voice.

"Yeah, that damn book! Don't tell me you know it too! Fucking stupid book about magic and–" then, a blur that went by the name of Feliciano jumped at his side, stealing the receiver from his hands and pushing him aside.

"Alfre~d! you read Harry Potter books as well!"

Lovino blinked, cussing out again, and stared in surprise as his younger brother started what to him was a one–sided, completely not understandable conversation about that saga.

"Ve~! Yes! And do you know they said there wouldn't be the Gaunt Family in the movie? Can you believe it? How can they explain about some of the Horcruxes without them?"

Lovino stared, almost transfixed, as Feliciano's face brightened up through his discussion, waving his arms around; he blinked, feeling as if he'd missed something important. When had been the last time Feliciano had smiled this much?

Maybe his brother had needed another friend more than he had first realised. After all, the only people around him were Romano himself, Japan, the potato bastard and his brother. And Spain, but Spain didn't count.

Oh, yes, and sometimes France popping up to be lecherous.

America had more in common with Italy than any of them.

But Italy was usually so cheerful around Germany. Didn't that count?

Frowning, Lovino realised that actually, in the last few weeks, if not more, and especially during the World meeting, Italy had not been as clingy and close to the potato bastard as he had before.

Instead of the expected burst of happiness at the realisation that the relationship between his brother and the fucking potato lover was not as good anymore, Romano felt more angered and worried.

Despite his own opposition, Italy had always looked the happiest at Germany's side. Of course Romano could never truly go against his little brother's happiness, no matter what. Even if he didn't approve of his love interest choice.

Italy deserved love, after all. And even though he would never admit this aloud, Lovino thought Ludwig would be able to make Feli happy.

But if Italy himself was hesitant about Germany… it meant things were far worse than he could ever believe.

When did things get this bad? What was happening, and when did it start?

"Ve~! Let's go together! I'd love to see that movie with a fellow fa~n! it will be twice as fun! Come on come on Alfre~d!"

Lovino blinked, watching his brother's face closely, and backed away in surprise. Nah, it couldn't really…

"Yay! Awesome! Harry Potter, here we co~me!"

And as Feliciano started bouncing around, waving his book and the receiver in the air, Lovino felt his resolve strengthen. Well, what might come, it would be ok. Even that American idiot…

Just to keep him smiling like this.

…………………………

Two weeks and a half.

Two entire weeks and a half, without Italy coming around to pester him.

In a normal situation, Germany would have been what, overjoyed? Hadn't he always said how much it made him uncomfortable, to see the Italian so clingy with him, never allowing him privacy, popping up at any ungodly hour of the night, popping up when he showered, and everywhere else?

Why did he start counting the days without Italy with such a sad undertone?

And yet, this was the case.

After four full days without Italy popping up at random times, Germany had started to actually _miss_ him; why the hell would he miss his 've~' and his 'pastaaa!', he would never understand, and yet, it was the truth.

Germany kind of missed Italy.

And his cheery smile, and his attitude, and the fact that without him, he was left all alone in his house, with the sole company of Gilbert –which wasn't much, as his older brother spent most of the day stalking Hungary and Austria or muttering how nice it was to be alone.

So, as it was, Germany was close to have a nervous breakdown.

This kind of annoyance, unfortunately for him, had the unpleasing backlash of having Germany go to the two Italies' house to check up on Feliciano.

What if he was ill? His economy did seem good, but with the raising prices of oil, it might have caused him a bit of fever?

Or maybe Romano had finally convinced him to not go see him anymore?

Germany's heart constricted just a bit at this thought. He wouldn't be able to go back to his usual life if Italy was not with him.

Annoyance or not, he had grown used to the Italian's presence in his life. Italy was a good friend, the first one he ever had, someone he could come to trust and confide into… he didn't want to have to renounce to this, even if he was easily frightened, hated war and fights, only thought about pasta…

Yeah, well.

Somehow, he preferred Italy _in_ his life, not _out_ of it.

That was why he was standing in front of Italy's house, trying to reign over his uncomfortable feeling, and ready to move to the door and knock.

"Ve~! I'll be going now, Lovi~"

He froze, hiding behind a corner and trying to peer from it without being seen; both Italian brothers appeared on the entrance, looking ready to go out. Lovino was dressed normally, whilst Feli had a strange scarf around his neck, of two colours, that did look like it was far too hot to be worn with the temperature of the last few days.

"Feli, don't eat too many sweets, you know what happens if you do" Lovino, in a sudden bout of dotting–brother–ness, fussed over Feliciano, patting his head. "Have fun, though, and if you need me, I'll be over at Spain's".

"You're going to have your weekly Star Trek marathon, huh? You're such a Trekkie!"

"Shut up, Warsie! I just happen to like it, damn it! Think for yourself! Wizards and Witches, bah, it's _not_ interesting!"

Feliciano chuckled, waving as the two turned in two opposite directions and walked away.

It looked like Italy was going somewhere, without even asking Ludwig to come! It was… strange. Unfair, too. Italy always asked Germany to go with him to places! This called drastic measures…

Germany felt his cheeks flush hard. It was so embarrassing to even think about doing this, but it didn't matter –his curiosity took the best of him.

So, he straightened up and started stalking Italy.

–––

**Glossary: (or, HP for not readers and something else)  
**

_Gaunt Family:_ HP book 6 info related. Family of the evil guy. All dead.

_Horcruxes:_ HP book 6 info related. (spoiler alert) the evil guy split his soul in 7, tying a part in various objects. Such objects are Horcruxes.

_Trekkie:_ Star Trek fan.

_Warsie:_ Star Wars fan.


	8. Chapter 07

**SOY:** so, another chapter out :D what do you think? I'm glad this pairing is becoming more known around, I'd really love to see other people writing AmeIta!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 07**

"Alfre~d! Here you are!"

Bouncing happily towards the American, Feliciano waved and tackled him to the ground, feeling overjoyed; Alfred huffed out in shock, but laughed out and patted Feli's back.

"You hyped up?" he asked.

Italy stood back up, offering America his hand, and nodded "I hated how they kept pushing the movie around without airing it~ so obviously I'm happy! Let's go! I want the best seats!"

Germany blinked in surprise, from his position behind the corner, as the two Nations entered the movie theatre to go watch… Harry Potter?

So Italy was going to watch a movie with America? Actually, the two had been closer since the World meeting, but this was still quite unexpected, and Germany felt a bit cheated, once again. Italy could have asked him to come… he wouldn't have accepted, because he was not a fan of those movies, but still…

Still feeling a bit peeved, Germany moved towards the theatre as well, determined in following the two inside, even though he didn't know why.

He just wanted to… well…

Someone collided with him, causing him to step backwards and look down.

"Ah, excuse me, I didn't mean to bump into– Germany?"

Germany found himself looking at England, who was wearing dark eyeglasses.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?"

England fidgeted, huffing in uneasiness and shifting his weight from one feet to the other. "I was definitely not stalking America! I was just passing by, and it's the première for my book series, so I am entitled to come and watch it!"

Germany stared some more at him.

"I was just walking around" he muttered then, looking to the side with a light blush.

England, who was also looking to the side, hesitated for a second. "Yeah, I believe you. Now, let's go inside or we'll not be able to find seats from where we can watch Alfred and Feliciano" he rubbed his hands together, looking quite imposing.

Germany flushed harder but nodded, following the other nation inside the cinema.

There they were, in line to get popcorn (apparently the two had already bought tickets in the time when Germany and England had bumped into each other outside); America was waving his arms around, and Italy was giggling at him, holding the tickets in his hands. Then, when they got to the counter and started ordering food, England made a dash to the ticket boot and bought two tickets.

Returning to Germany in record time, he nodded at him and then at the two, who were now holding two extra–size popcorn bags and two giant cokes.

"It was nice of you to pay for my food, Alfred~" Italy smiled at the taller Nation, brushing his hand on the other's arm. "I'll pay for the next one then!"

"It was my duty as the her… well, actually, I asked you to come, so it was only right I'd pay for this and the tickets" America felt the odd need to flush, but forced it down. There was nothing to flush about.

Italy smiled at him, then the two disappeared behind the corner. Germany and England, who had stared at them in surprise, moved to follow them, entering the theatre hall and sitting down a few rows behind America and Italy, who were already deep into nerd conversation.

"I just love Helena Bonham Carter~" Feliciano was waving around his scarf like a flag, cheeks flushing in excitement "she's awesome as Bella, even though I _hate_ Bella~"

"I know! She's like, amazing at being non–amazing!" Alfred was already munching on his food, so the rest of what he said was lost to both Arthur and Ludwig, but somehow Feliciano managed it out –much to their surprise.

"Yeah! The extra scenes with her will be cool, even though it's disappointing they added some parts to the books!"

"I don't get what they're talking about" Germany muttered, feeling upset already "I haven't read those books of yours, Arthur" he added, causing the older nation to shrug.

"I tried them, but they're not my cup of tea either… but they seem perfect for those two dolts" he added, staring with a pout at America.

This comment caused many fans who were filling the empty seat around the two to hiss in their directions, throwing disgusted glances at them. England coughed, feeling the odd one out, and Germany shifted lower in his seat, wondering why he had come.

Oh, right, to stalk Italy.

How embarrassing.

Then, the lights went off, and in a split second, everybody went silent –even America and Italy, who shuffled in their seats, staring in expectation at the screen.

The movie started playing, and Italy elbowed America the moment the first scene flashed through. "Wait" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low "the hell is this? The book starts with the Dursleys!"

"I know! And the girl… wait, did they just add some random hot chick offering Harry her number or what?"

"Look, she just wants a quickie in the back" Italy replied, and both snorted, shaking in a vain attempt to reign control of their laughter.

As the movie progressed further, England tried to shift forwards more, to catch what the two were saying (they kept leaning towards each other all the time, didn't they know you shouldn't speak in theatres?)

"Hehehe… look at Ron! He, too, wants that quickie in the back!"

"Seriously, any more hints there and I'm going to lol at it!"

"… you didn't just use the word 'lol' for real, did you"

"I'm American, what did you expect?"

"… ve~"

Germany, who was feeling utterly bored already, started glancing around, wishing he hadn't come. It was idiotic. How could he be jealous of America? Wasn't it better if Italy had other friends other than him?

Wasn't it…

"Oh, god, _Francis_!" America and Italy yelled, staring at each other, then pointing at the screen, where a fat man had just said something about a fish of his named Francis.

Then they started snorting loudly, covering their mouths with their hands, unable to stop. It was too funny. Just _too_ funny.

"That fish… was called… Francis! _Francis_!" Italy grabbed America's hand, shaking hard.

"What… a… coincidence…" Alfred snorted, too amused to speak any more.

"_Que_? Francis is a wonderful name, I'll have you two know!" an offended voice replied, somewhere on the side, a few rows at England's right.

America, Italy, Germany and England turned around, and there it was, France, standing up on his seat with a hand on his hip and the other dramatically lifted in the air (whilst someone behind him cursed at him).

"And I could have done better with those lewd jokes before" he added after a moment, winking at Italy.

There was a second of deep silence in the room.

Then, three things happened –America and Italy fell into fits of laughter so strong they doubled over on their seat, spilling all the popcorn on the floor, England stood up, ready to start a shooting match with France there in the hall, and someone behind France threw a coke can at him, hitting the Nation on the head.

"Down, Idiot! I'm here to watch the movie!"

"Hey!"

Italy and America, looking at how France was spitting and waving his arms, fell into fits of giggling again, and Germany used this to grasp England's necktie and pull him down, hiding both of them from sight.

"No good if they see us!" he hissed the other.

Just in time, as the usher stomped through the hall, grasping France by his shirt and dragging the protesting man out.

Arthur rolled his eyes, Germany let out a relieved huff, and some rows away, Italy and America kept snickering, holding onto each other.

–––

**Glossary:**

_Helena Bonham Carter:_ actress and wife of Tim Burton. She was Bellatrix Lestrange in HP.

_Bella:_ Bellatrix Lestrange. Evil, crazy witch. Really crazy. Really, really crazy.

_Francis:_ there is a part which is only in the movie, where Professor Slughorn explains about his fish called Francis. I actually snickered for 5 minutes when this name popped up, and pictured a naked France swimming in a fishbowl. Yes, I'm easily amused.

**My explanation on why England doesn't like HP that much in this fic:**

I think he'd be disappointed in how the author of the books got a lot of plot holes, and how she put certain things down, magic and such. He'd be a bit tsundere, but deep down, he'd still read them and mostly enjoy them.

I'm a reader and I enjoyed them, but I was disappointed in the plot holes and how she explained certain things.


	9. Chapter 08

**SOY:** we see some development in this chapter. Thanks to everybody for the nice reviews! I love you all!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 08**

"It was just awesome!" Alfred pumped his fist in the air, bouncing around Feliciano, who was nodding "Well, except the added scenes, but it was expected, until the end the book was a bit slow…"

"Ve~" Italy opened his eyes wide, turning to America in a parody of Tonks "Let's go, sweetheart" he stated, adding a wave of his arms, just to make it more dramatic.

America, catching on, opened his mouth to yell what they both yelled when the scene played at the theatre (a scandalised _'what?!'_), but the words died in his mouth when a part of him commented on how cute Italy looked.

America's brain hit the brakes and shut down.

'_Wait… what?'_

"Ve~ Alfred? Is there something wrong?"

"Uh, no! sorry, I was just…" America waved one arm, closing his eyes and turning around, his cheeks turning redder. _'What was that…?'_ "I was thinking about how France was shoved out of the theatre! Wasn't it just the funniest thing you've ever seen?"

Italy chuckled, nodding and grasping America's arm, clinging at him. "Let's eat something now, ve? Those popcorns didn't satisfy me in the least!"

America's flush turned darker at the touch and his words; at that moment, everything felt sharper, and he suddenly found himself terribly self conscious. "Uh… yeah, sure… _sure_!" he shook himself out of his sudden bout of embarrassment, and grabbed Italy's hand in his, tugging him forwards. "There's a Mexican restaurant closer, isn't there? Let's go!"

The two left, bickering more lines of the movie and commenting on how hard it would be in the next one to explain the _horcruxes_, and Germany and England, who had managed to endure through the whole movie, followed them, feeling somewhat grouchier and angrier than before.

In the middle of the crowd coming out from the movie, Romano straightened up, pulling his hood off his head and growling to the person at his side.

"I hope you're happy… I just wasted three hours of my life, damn it" he muttered, angry.

"I admit, the movie could have been better" Canada replied, not bothering to cover up since no one noticed him anyway "but I was right, was I? Those two are getting closer… and the hints _are there_!"

"I just wasted my entire afternoon of star trek marathon to follow my brother and his soon–to–be–boyfriend… damn it" Romano huffed out, but deep inside, he felt vindictively happy. America, albeit loud and moronic and full of idiotic ideas, was way better than the potato bastard.

"Aww, come on, Lovi~ after all, I'm here too! Isn't it a funny way to spend an afternoon together?" Spain hugged Romano from behind, cuddling the spluttering Italian to his chest and cooing, winking at a chuckling Canada. "Besides, it was all worth it, at least to see how the usher chased Francis out!"

"_Mais non_! It was not funny!" France dramatically posed in a hurt stance, one arm over his eyes and the other on his heart. "Francis _**is**_ a perfectly wonderf–"

"Oh, shut it, frog eater!" Romano huffed, kicking France's shins and storming away, following his brother and the two stalkers.

Spain chuckled, chased him, and Canada, after throwing a pitiful glance at the twitching France, followed them too.

…………………………

America knew he needed to talk –ask something, anything, especially since the silence between them felt awkward on his part; the Italian at his side didn't seem to be feeling it either, but America did.

It was unsettling, just like before, when he realised he had just lingered on thoughts about Italy that previously he'd only associated to England.

Which was wrong, wrong –because Italy was a friend, a great one, but he didn't want a repeat of his relationships with England; if he'd ever fall there… but then again, this was the first person America had managed to talk to that he could actually confront with, chat about random things, both fun and serious, someone that looked at America and didn't see an idiot… but a person.

Canada was too meek to discuss with, and discussing with England only made them fight, and France was just perverted, and…

Yeah. He liked spending time with someone that could look at him and see beyond his silliness.

Maybe he was just mistaking this friendship for something else? He wasn't that knowledgeable, after all.

As it was, Alfred felt a strong need to talk about something less private. He needed a laid down subject… wait, wasn't Italy still hurting after some sort of earthquake disaster happened earlier that year?

"So, uh, how are things going?" America found himself quite at loss of words, which was something so terribly unlike him that he had to pause for a moment just to gather his thoughts. "I mean, with the… uh, you know…"

Italy, who had by then busied himself with eating a kebab (there had been nothing else around selling food, the Mexican was closed… besides, kebab tasted _good_), looked up with a confused blink. "Whmphf?" he asked, a drop of sauce dribbling down his chin.

America once again halted, in the middle of a mostly realistic rumble motion with his hands, to watch in transfixed glaze at the sauce, at least until Italy cleaned it away.

"Alfred~? What were you talking about?"

Fighting against the suspicious flutter of his insides, America coughed. "Uh! I mean, how are things going with L'Aquila?" he did a mental victory dance at having remembered the name of the city.

Italy lifted one eyebrow.

"Fi~ne" he tilted his head to the side, frowning a bit. "Alfred, is everything alright? You've been there too, remember? The G8 meetings…?"

It was America's turn to blink in surprise. "Wait, really? That was L'Aquila?"

"Ve~" Italy rolled his eyes. He should have expected America, who barely knew anything geographically related outside of his own territories, wouldn't have known. "Your boss didn't tell you?"

"Uuh…" Alfred looked to the side. He had probably been so into his fights with England that he _really_ had not noticed. Probably his boss had spent some time telling him about it, but…

Besides, during the week and a half between the UN meeting and the G8 meeting, America had been far too busy spending time with Italy to even notice anything about exactly where they were standing.

Thinking back about that period, he realised he barely remembered the meetings at all, let alone his fights with England. Wait, did they even fight _at all_? He barely remembered talking during those meetings…

"Alfred, do you even remember what my… uh, my boss said? About getting aids from outside?" Italy licked his lips, finishing his kebab and throwing away the napkins, happily licking the remaining sauce from his fingers as he kept talking. "It's been some months ago, but during the meeting he's thanked your boss about… Alfred? Hu~h, Alfred, are you even listening?"

This was getting absurd, really –America had to steer himself to pay attention to Feliciano, because his mind had, unfortunately, wandered away again.

The hell. This was a bit worse than he first thought I'd be…

No, it would pass. He was America. Things like these held no importance at all… right? Yeah, yeah, they would pass.

"Actually…" America shrugged, biting into his cooling kebab to have something else to do instead of looking at Italy "I don't remember much. I was just happy we were spending time together, I've not been thinking about England for a lot… wait, I didn't make you waste time, right? Time you should have been spending resting, right?"

The sudden bout of worry he felt made him turn around, staring into Italy's perplexed eyes.

"Alfred, don't worry~ the earthquake hurt, but I've had worse~ and they don't need my help at all…" he paused, feeling oddly pleased to hear America say how much he enjoyed their shared time. "I was happy to spend time with you, too!"

The candid admission made America blush again. _'Oh, damn it all'_ he cursed inwardly, feeling like his first few months after realising that maybe, just maybe, he was attracted to England. _'Don't go there'_.

"So, what were you saying about your boss…?"

"Back when it happened, boss refused outside help. He didn't even ask my opinion… I would have wanted help. You're all my friends, right?" Italy bit his lower lip. Actually, back then, what he'd really wanted was Germany's help, but no, his boss hadn't accepted _that_. "I had to bother him for more than a day then, and brother, too, to make him at least state we could accept your help".

America blinked, rewinding what Italy had just said.

"Wait, you asked specifically for him to accept _my_ he… my boss' help?"

Italy bobbed his head up and down, with a silly smile.

"I really like your boss~" he stated, jumping on a nearby railing and swaying his legs to keep balance. "And even back then, I knew that I could trust you at least… you always say you're the hero, right? And I thought you were nice even back then, I respected you, even if I don't like your methods to solve problems, but I knew you'd be able to help… and it was easy to trick my boss, since everybody loves _yours_" he added as an afterthought, smiling at the other nation, who was left speechless once again.

"Feliciano…" Alfred didn't really know what to say to this.

To know that even when they hadn't even started going out (_friendly_ going out! _Not_ dating! _Not_ dating!) Italy had respected him…

America cleared his throat, "so you convinced your boss to accept… just _me_?"

Another nod, and a brighter smile, and America's heart fluttered just a bit more.

'_Oh, damn it'._

America knew just then, that he was doomed.

–––

**Glossary:**

_Horcruxes:_ as seen last chapter, pieces of soul encased into objects (or else).

_Tonks:_ a young woman who can change her outer appearance (like eye colour, hair, face…). Her relationship with another character, Lupin, wasn't revealed in the books until the last 10 pages or so, where you find out Lupin didn't want to stay with her for fear of war and because he's too old for her. In the movie, there's this random scene of her calling him sweetheart which went me and the friend I went to see it with into a loud, scandalised 'EEEEEH?!'

_Mais non:_ (French) can be translated into a 'of course not!'


	10. Chapter 09

**SOY:** I'm sorry I haven't updated this fanfic in so much, but RL came to bitch at me, together with a friend I'm co–writing a Naruto fic with. She's been demanding even though I haven't been able to write for Naruto in a long while, and I think I'm a bit back in Naruto fandom too…

(hetalia still holds me tight, though, so don't worry XDD it comes first)

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 09**

"So this is how it is" Germany frowned, sitting in front of his house and closing his eyes, trying to sort through his thoughts.

After stalking Italy through his movie–day with America, he and England had followed the two for the remaining of the day. It had been clear to both that the two were good friends, and that they had similar interests…

To Ludwig, it had also looked like this friendship had more basis than the one he shared with Feliciano.

A part of him was jealous –definitely jealous of the two, because even though he had always badmouthed Italy because of his closeness, he had actually _liked_ his company. Italy had been his first and only friend for so long…

During the war, he had always been there. Afterwards, they had been together, as well; it was something he was used to, so used he had taken it for granted.

He resented America for stealing Italy away, but that introduced his second problem.

The other part of him was glad that Italy was opening up to others that were not him. Germany was not a friendly person, and Italy had needed others to spend time with, others with different interests, different likings…

Yes, Italy was overly friendly. He liked everyone. But this 'like' only reached so far. Casual speech at meetings, sometimes seeing people in the streets, but not actually doing something with them. No movie outings. No lunches or dinners.

He spoke with Japan, but the two had barely anything to say to each other after the war. France popped around, but only to grope, and no interest for other things… Spain was all over Romano, of course, and Italy's relationship with his brother had its ups and downs.

And to be completely honest, Poland was scarcely around to spend time with Italy as it was, always busy with Lithuania… and Germany wasn't even sure Poland and Italy shared much in common, except their air–headedness and their strange soft spot for female clothes and fashion.

With Alfred it was different. Subtle, but things to share between them were many. Books likings, movies, ideologies, the list could go on and on.

Germany knew he shouldn't demand all of Italy's attention to himself, but he _did_ want to spend some time with him. He didn't like being ignored and forgotten.

America was stealing Italy away, and he didn't like it.

His resolve strengthening, Ludwig stood up, his heart calmer. He would try to spend more time with Feliciano, and their friendship would be restored.

At least, he would resort to acting as a mature person. He wondered what would England do, and if he'd reach the same conclusion he had…

…………………………

"Ve~ Alfred, it's so nice of you to always buy me food~" Italy chirped happily as he ordered a chocolate–covered banana on a stick, smiling at the American.

"Ah, it's nothing, it's nothing, of course!" Alfred waved his hand, laughing a bit, then fixed his eyes on Feliciano's mouth, waiting for the show to start.

Yes, he was using Italy's love for sweets and basically, anything you could eat (that was not fast food or too dip–fried) to get free unsuspecting shows to stare at.

Yes, it was that bad.

Italy's lips parted and America gulped down, eyes growing just a bit bigger as a pink tongue flickered out to lick at the top of the banana; America groaned, his mouth drying up instantly, but unable to look away.

He felt like a masochist.

Watching the tongue and the teeth work to demolish the banana, America's mind wandered in less proper fields.

It was two weeks after their movie date –yes, because America had started considering it a date despite the lack of knowledge of the other part involved– and things had quite escalated from there; his requests to spend time with Italy had doubled, and he knew that this was ridiculous.

It didn't matter if Italy liked to spend time with him, because he was doing it mainly to stir away from Germany. America knew this, and knew he couldn't quite ask for anything more –he'd started this for the same reason, after all… but now, things had changed on his part.

He was spending time with Italy because he'd liked the other nation, they had turned into good friends and lately, for him, they had turned to a new direction he had not anticipated.

He was _crushing_ on Italy.

Like one of those schoolgirls of Kiku's anime.

Like a schoolgirl in one of _his own _movies!

It was embarrassing, to say the least. And terribly cliché, and sad and everything, and yet…

That was the truth, he couldn't deny it. He had fallen hard for Italy.

"Say, Alfred~" Italy was halfway through his banana stick, licking at the crumbles of chocolate and banana on the side, and Alfred tried to look into his eyes instead. "There's a painting exhibition of an old Italian painter I'd like to go to… would you come with me?"

Somewhere deep in America's mind, his inner self danced in happiness. Outside, he smiled brightly, flushing and nodding happily. "Of course, that'd be awesome…"

He stared as with two more bites, the banana disappeared from the world. Oh, that was a shame. "Do you want something else to eat for now?"

"Ve~ you're so nice!" Italy smiled and the next second, America found his arms full of a chirping Italian, who hugged him and kissed both of his cheeks as thanks. "I hope you will love him as much as I do! It means a lot if you come, too!"

America felt detached from the world as he blinked, staring as Italy bounced away, singing something under his breath.

What had just happened?

Had Italy just… just…

"Ve~ Alfred, let's go! Let's go!"

…………………………

England growled.

Yes, he _growled_. At his side, the small, green rabbit–thingy that always followed him shifted away, uncomfortable with his master's pissed off mood of the last few weeks.

It had been a hard, damn few weeks.

First, having to face America's lack of attention towards him during the World meetings, and his strange attachment to Italy –then, during the G8, America had also preferred to not fight with him for every little thing, which was unusual, and had, again, preferred Italy's company.

And all those 'dates' together, although England was sure there was nothing between them aside from friendship –both were too idiotic to even think about that.

He felt cheated on.

Sure, he and America didn't have a relationship going, and yet they _had_ one. Theirs was a special relationship. England cared a lot for America, even though he wouldn't be able to say that loudly.

He even might as well say that to himself, that he l…

Shaking his head harder, England narrowed his eyes, peering from behind the corner.

Might as well clear things up –he was, once again, stalking America and Italy. Who had said something about an exhibition, which was something Italy would like but America? America only knew about his pop art and things as such. Once England had, back then, tried to interest him in English artists, but it had failed badly…

His interest was equal to zero… then why was he following the other around?

What could Alfred find in the Italian? He was idiotic, and air–headed, exactly like Alfred himself was. But Alfred never did show any interest in him before. So, why now? What did attract him? Why were they friends, apart their common lack of sense and ability to read the atmosphere?

He was jealous. He knew he was. But he didn't like the thought.

Jealous because Alfred wasn't looking at him anymore, because he was having fun with someone else… because they were not fighting, and he missed that. He missed Alfred.

All of his anger vanished.

"I miss him" he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

Maybe… maybe he had been a bad father, and a bad person with him, but… but he was hurt too, damnit! Losing America as a colony hadn't been bad for his economy only… it had been bad for his heart, because he'd loved America, his son, more than anything. And this kind of betrayal… this kind of betrayal was hard to forget.

That was mainly why he kept pushing America away, why he kept accepting those fights, which were America's fault just as much as his own.

"I'm so stupid" he murmured, watching as America bought something to eat for Italy again. Really, was he trying to make him fat? "I guess I hadn't expected him to try and replace me… I thought he'd be an idiot, and stay. And wait for me, no matter how many centuries it'd take… I had taken pride into knowing this".

Now, he had lost that special part in their relationship that made it worth it.

He would gain that back, though. He couldn't let Italy steal America. He couldn't.


	11. Chapter 10

**SOY:** so, another chapter. I have to thank everyone for reading this fic again, and be aware that the sequel has been started on the kink meme. Of course, it's going much slower because RL is kicking me in the shins…

I hope this won't be boring for you all, people!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 10**

Italy hummed happily as he got to the exhibition, paying both his ticket and America's, even though the latter protested, almost vehemently. America was definitely cute, Italy had to admit, but he needed to ease his 'heroic desire to always pay' because _really_.

As it was, whilst the two walked down the corridors, admiring a few paintings, Italy had to think about how many things had changed in the last few weeks.

Until less than a month before, he would have been clinging at Germany's arm, asking him to come over, asking him to look at him and smile, asking him…

And now, he was spending time with someone else.

It made him feel uneasy, cheating. Because he was using America to keep Germany away, and this sort of thing was something that made him feel dirty. It tasted like cheating.

Besides, America was so much easier to deal with. He was funny and not snappy, never went into bouts of bossiness and never yelled at Italy like Germany did all the time, and with America, Italy could relax and not have to always hold a conversation by himself.

Unfortunately, he realised that they both needed to sort out their relationships, otherwise this situation could only degenerate. What if by keeping Germany away, they'd grow further apart instead? He _did_ want Germany, did he?

'_Is it so bad I'm not sure about the answer to this…?'_

As it was, it hurt. Italy didn't like pain, and running was a good resolve, but it only put things off. He had to face his problems with Germany, and didn't want to involve America more than he had already… and what kind of a friend was he, keeping the American Nation away from England?

Strengthening his resolve despite his inner pain, Italy closed his eyes briefly. He would need to go speak with Germany, and allow America some time for himself, too.

Just… not right now.

"Wait, so you said you've met this artist?" America's voice bounced through the silent halls, and he slapped his hands on his mouth, flushing and looking around. Thankfully, no one was looking at him, and he breathed out in relief.

Italy chuckled, but nodded anyway. "Yes. He was amazing… brother and I followed him around for years, even though he didn't know…"

Talking about art… with Germany, this wouldn't have been possible. Germany wasn't new to art, but surely enough it held less importance to him than it did to the Italian, and he had never had enough patience to go through a full exposition with Italy ever before… he usually crumbled half–way through and they had to abandon.

"But his art is… well, some of those paintings are a bit _cruel_, aren't they?" America pointed at the painting they were currently standing in front of, which showed a woman in the act of decapitating a man, blood sprinkling from his throat whilst an older woman watched from behind, serious and intent.

Despite himself, America leaned forwards, observing the details of the painting, shuddering at the realistic expression of determined distress on the young woman's face.

Once again, Italy nodded. "Yes. But you have to understand that during this period, many artists loved to paint about saints and classical situations… many paintings are about martyrs or similarly bloody scenes" moving forwards, Italy pointed to the next paint, where three men were lifting a fourth one, older and mostly naked, upside-down on a wooden board.

America watched Italy animatedly speak (in hushed tones, though, as they were in a museum) about the various paintings, smiling to himself; before, he'd looked somehow bothered and down, but thankfully it looked like that moment was gone.

Actually, had it depended on him, America would have ignored the exposition, as art of this kind wasn't his cup of tea, but now he knew he'd never pass up this opportunity to see Italy so happy.

It was clear the soul of an artist inside Feliciano demanded to be let out, and Alfred couldn't but listen in fascination, pulled into the same vortex by the Italian Nation's heartfelt excitement.

Most of all, America found out he could actually understand what Italy was saying –which was a first… all things art-related kind of went above his head, and his dislike for old art came from many boring afternoons spent with England in old, dusty museums.

But… simple, interesting explanations that sifted from the historical period to the feelings of the artists, the pressure to produce something, everything fit perfectly and Feliciano was a skilled narrator.

"It surprises me you know so little about European artists" Italy admitted as the one-sided conversation, only broken by some questions from America, shifted from Italian artists to the European renaissance period.

With a shrug, the American fixed his attention on the next painting, this one skilfully drawn on some sort of wooden shield. "England did try to teach me, but somehow his explanations were either boring, long, or just fumbled speeches about how I should stop caring about pop-art and start studying other things, and it kind of irked me".

Before that, when he was younger, he'd only been able to see England a few times, and they never spoke about art then… and then the Revolution came, and after that, not much time had been spent recalling old paintings until later…

Apparently, his pause was enough of an explanation for Feliciano, who simply nodded and patted his shoulder once, showing his understanding and presence, and it was enough to cheer America up immensely.

If only the Italian knew how much this meant to him, he surely would be happy… or would he run? After all, America knew Italy was still hung up with Germany. Was it so bad that he was stealing Italy away from everyone? He wanted to be a bit selfish and hold onto this crush as long as he was allowed to… after all, it was new, it was fresh, and it was warm, and it was destined to disappear, he was sure of it.

Italy was not his, after all, his heart still belonged to the German, and that kind of made America jealous.

"Ah! This one is my favourite!"

Alfred twitched. The painting on the shield wasn't the most amazing he'd seen… he definitely preferred the one called 'Decollazione del Battista', with the guy on the ground and a man cutting his head off.

This one was smaller; it was the head of a… woman, with snakes instead of hair, and blood rolling down her clearly severed neck. Her expression was that of fear, resentment and also pain.

He shuddered.

"Why is this one your favorite?" he mumbled, shifting away. "It's a bit… freaky".

A chuckle made him stop, and Italy shifted forwards, grabbing his elbow and nudging him closer. America chocked on his breath, suddenly freezing all over.

"Well, it's the famous Gorgon Medusa, from the Greek Myth… you surely have heard of her?" at America's unsure shrug (too lost in the touch to gather enough brain for anything else) he smiled. "She was a creature with, obviously, snakes instead of hair. Her eyes were said to hold the power of turning every living creature into stone, at least until Perseus came, using his shield as a mirror and making her look into her own eyes… turning her into stone. Her face was impressed in the shield, as the legends say, and he brought over her decapitated head to the court of the king, turning everybody into stone as a revenge for his mother and his own abandonment at the hands of the king".

Once again, America could picture every word into his mind, together with Italy's narrating voice.

"This painting… it's just perfect. It caught the moment of Medusa's doom, her appearance in the exact second of her death… the surprise of having been defeated, in that split second… it's all in her eyes… it's so realistic, painted with vivid tones, and even the snakes of her hair look as thought they might come to life any moment".

America gulped down his uneasiness. Italy was right about that –the painting did look a bit too realistic.

He looked to the side again, attention easily shifting from the painting to Italy, and the sight of that clear, complete love shining in those brown eyes sent America's heart into painful flutters. Probably in that second he had fallen for Italy again.

How could he not? With such bright eyes and passion and everything Italy was?

And how could America not feel a bit more appreciative for art, as well, given Italy's speeches and presence?

He'd never seen this side of art before. He only knew a few paintings in his own culture, but nothing this deep, this meaningful, with roots that spread through the whole Europe… it was a taste of the ancient world he'd been cut off from until England found him.

He'd never been that interested before, but suddenly, he felt the need to know _more_.

"I'll have you take me to more of those exhibitions" he mumbled, looking to the side with a flush. "Or maybe you could paint for me" he added as an after–thought.

Italy's beaming face could have rivalled the sun.

–––

**Glossary:**

The artist Italy went to see is _Michelangelo Merisi_, also known as _Caravaggio_. He was a superb artist, of course, even though most of his faces are a bit stale and look like they're acting through rituals instead of showing emotions for what they are doing. Still, I am terribly partial, because together with Dalì, Caravaggio is my favourite painter. Sue me.

_The paintings here described are__: (please take the spaces away from links)_

_'Medusa'_

(http:// www. mlahanas. de/ Greeks/ Mythology/ RM/ MedusaCaravaggio. jpg)

_'Decollazione del Battista'_

(http:// www. windoweb. it/ guida/ arte/ arte_foto/ caravaggio_7 .jpg)

_'Giuditta e Oloferne'_

(http:// www. / old/images/ CaravaggioGiudittaeOloferne. jpg).


	12. Chapter 11

**SOY:** so sorry for the slow updates…

As a different notice, I've found out that on adultfanfiction they finally set up a Hetalia section (Anime, G to L, hetalia). I'll be posting there all my lemons, most of them regarding Italy, but it'll take a bit to get all of them up (currently there's the Fraita and an USAUK). If you don't follow my posts in the kink meme or in my LJ, you might want to check it out. (there is a link to my AFF account on my BIO. If you can't see it, my nick there is _**Cepheus**_, I'd love to see you there, too)

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 11**

The phone ringing had Italy bounce all the way from the kitchen to get the call, much to Romano's amusement and annoyance both, but all of Italy's happiness seemed drained away when he answered, making his brother shift closer with a frown.

"Hello, Feliciano" on the other end of the receiver, Ludwig twisted on the spot, feeling oddly compelled to just shove the phone down and be done with it. "It has been a while".

Part of Italy was delighted Germany would call him (it was such a rare occurrence!) but another part felt oddly disappointed it was not America.

"Ludwig~!" he hummed, throwing a guilty look at his brother, who scoffed. "I'm happy you called me! Is there something you wanted?"

A pause, so long it made Feliciano fidget.

"Yes, actually, I was wondering if you'd like to come… hang… at my place tomorrow? There is going to be a small fest and I'd like it if you could come".

Feliciano bit his lip, halting his refusal before it came out. He'd been about to say 'no, thanks' because he had already an appointment with America to go to the pool, but then remembered his resolve.

"Of course I'd be happy to! I've missed you!" he chirped out, knuckles turning white on the cord of the phone.

Ludwig felt all of his tension disappear, and despite himself, smiled. His chest turned suddenly warmer. "T–that's good, I'll see you there then!"

Feliciano fidgeted and turned around, wincing at Lovino's disappointed stare. "_Cosa_?"

"You just accepted to go out with the Potato Bastard again" was the cold reply. "I know it. Why? You were having fun with the American idiot!"

"I… I don't have to explain myself to you" with that, Italy hurried out of the room, making his brother feel guilty for his hasty words.

…………………………

Canada skipped through America's entrance, clutching a scandalised Kumajirou in his arms and smiling all the way to the kitchen –Cuba had managed to recognise him and not punch the living daylights out of him this time, and the happening needed to be celebrated…

"Alfred! Are you in…?" he stopped, both words and motions, as he peered in the kitchen and found his brother sulking at the table, face half hidden in his arms. He moved forwards, hesitantly tapping the top of America's head, waiting until those blue eyes peered at him. "Alfred… has something happened?"

There was a moment of pause, in which it looked like America was weighting his options, then he let out a groan.

"Italy ditched me for Germany" he murmured, looking and sounding so down Canada had to wince in sympathy.

So, it looked like America had just gotten to the point where he had recognised his feelings for what they were. Unfortunately for him, things were not as easy as they could have been, and there was still Germany to take into account, not to mention England.

Canada sighed, moving to the freezer and grasping a can of ice cream and two spoons.

Ignoring America's perplexed gaze, he slammed the ice cream on the table and pushed the lid open.

"There. Nothing seems as bad if you have a bit of chocolate and vanilla ice cream" the Canadian stated, smiling with a strength he didn't quite feel. But he loved America, his only brother, despite the latter always forgetting about him and pushing him around, and he wanted him to be happy.

America stared at him in silence, eyes shifting to the ice cream and back at his brother, then a soft half–smile lifted his lips upwards.

"Thanks, Mattie" he stated, digging the spoon into the softness of the chocolate side.

He was feeling terribly depressed, because whilst he knew this new crush was doomed from the start, he still wanted it to last. But of course, being it one–sided, he could do nothing, unless Italy suddenly realised his undying love was not for Germany to have.

Damn it all.

Matthew shook his head; somehow, deep down, his optimistic side was stating things would change soon enough.

…………………………

Although he'd accepted Ludwig's invitation to see where exactly they were standing, Feliciano quickly realised he was not really having fun.

The fest was one of the typical folkloristic celebrations held all over Germany, where men dressed up in traditional costumes to drink beer and sell cheese, and it was funny, and there was music and they laughed, and yet he _couldn't_ have fun.

Not even watching that drunken German being chased by a dog had made him laugh.

His eyes kept straying to Germany's relaxed face, as if expecting something to happen, and terribly missing his chats with America at the same time.

This wasn't exactly what he wanted anymore, was it?

Spending time with Germany, smiling and chatting, bouncing around… he didn't feel like it anymore, and it pained him. Was he expecting too much from their relationship? Was he demanding something out of the other Nation that he could not give him?

"You're not having fun".

Startled out of his thoughts, Italy blinked at the perplexed and kind of sad face of Ludwig looking down at him, and felt his heart twist painfully out of guilt.

Feliciano forced out a smile, shaking his head hurriedly. "No! Of course I'm having fu~n with Germany!"

The other shook his head, pressing one hand on his shoulder and steering him away from a group of tipsy Germans who were making a wild, loud mess near the stand of the music group, gently pulling him to the side, where they could talk.

"You want to go back with Alfred, do you?"

Feeling his cheeks flush, Italy let out a loud yelp. "No! I'm happy to be here with you, and–"

"Italy, please, be honest" Germany looked to the side, one hand coming to rub at his chin as he tried to find the right words to express his feelings.

Since their day started, he'd seen how Italy had refrained from bouncing around and making his usual happy mess around, not trying to talk with anyone, nor smiling up at him the same way. He was bored.

It was clear they couldn't enjoy themselves anymore now that Italy found out better company, and the thought hurt him.

"You don't like hanging out with me, because you realised I'm not a fun person to be with" he continued, unable to hide the hurt from his tone, his back to the Italian as he made to walk away.

"Wha… no!" unsure of what was happening, Italy moved forwards to attach himself at Germany's arm, stopping him. "T–that's not it at all!"

And really, it _wasn't_.

Suddenly, Italy felt afraid. Was the moment he'd been waiting for… happening now?

Germany took a long breath, turning to meet Italy's eyes, and sighed. "I…" he flushed, unable to properly explain. He was jealous and embarrassed about it. But if he wanted to make things even, he had to be honest with Italy. "I was a bit jealous of you spending more time with America lately. I consider you a friend, but I was worried you wouldn't want to spend time with me anymore now that you realised I'm boring and… stuff" he finished, gruffly.

Something flickered on Italy's face for a moment, something Germany couldn't decipher –something between a scowl, a pout and a grimace, but less defined.

"You consider me a friend?" was the question the Italian asked instead, so quietly Germany had to lean forwards to hear it.

"O–of course! After all that time during the war in which you kept asking me, I thought it would be clear by now" Ludwig hid his face in his hand, flushing again. "You're… you're my best friend, Italy. It has been so since back then. You're actually the only one I have. I didn't want to lose that friendship since it means so much to me… you're important for me".

Italy felt like crying.

There he was, with Ludwig finally clearing everything up, so candidly, and he felt like shit.

In that exact moment, with the German honestly revealing what had bugged him, he felt like a bastard, because he'd never thought once to ask the other how he felt. He'd been the only one worrying, the only one seeing things that had not been there. Disregarding how Germany felt, instead of asking him, he'd caused grief to both of them.

So… Germany did not love him.

At least not in any kind of romantic way.

Germany loved Italy like a friend, but a close, important friend. One he'd give his life to protect. A different kind of love altogether, one that Italy had ignored. Disregarded.

Italy felt like crying because the thought both hurt and did _not_ hurt, and he wanted to cry because the latter was stronger. It hurt like a dull, soft pain, unlike what he'd expected it to. It felt more like relief, like a weight had been taken off his back, finally, after so much.

He'd loved Germany so much, he was his second love, the person he'd looked up at so much, the person he respected and loved.

Now, his heart understood his inexplicable need for that something he couldn't get; he'd been split between a romantic kind of love that he could not feel anymore and the friendly love Germany already felt for him, but unable to understand what the other had thought, he'd been lost in his own emotions.

He had wanted Germany to love him, yes. But only as a friend. The kind of deep, meaningful love that was different from a romantic one.

Had Feliciano confronted Ludwig before… he'd have prevented any hurt for the both of them sooner…

He breathed deeply. There was no reason to regret not moving faster. Things went the way they had to. Now that it had settled down, he could finally find his place again. Learning from his past mistakes.

Even that lingering, dull ache in his heart, due to the loss of something he might have, somewhere in his heart, still wanted, was something he would not regret.

He would finally be able to give up on his sad attempts and move on as well.

Germany didn't really notice Italy's expression of mixed pain and relief –he wasn't that good with emotions, after all– and kept rambling, still feeling bad.

"B–but you've been so happy around America, that I felt guilty for wanting to take you back. I just hope we can still be friends even if I'm not fun to be with, that's all" and clearly ashamed enough, Germany looked away, trying to recompose himself.

Italy gulped down the tears welling in his eyes and looked up, grabbing Germany's bigger hand and bringing it to his own chest, right above his heart.

"This is where Germany is" he stated, his tone wavering a bit. "And this is where Germany will always stay, no matter what".

Germany flushed again, once again taken back by Italy's clear display of emotions.

"I love spending time with you, Germany" Feliciano continued, his smile taking on a sad, vague quality. "But things have been… confusing. I'm glad you could tell me all of this, because it was the best gift you could give me".

The lither fingers around his hand grew tighter, and Germany felt something was amiss, or had been amiss before then, without really understanding what. He realised that Italy needed some kind of time alone though, and excused himself, going to the farthest beer stand to grab something to drink for them both.

Italy sat down to the side of the street, feeling oddly empty.

That was it, in the end. Disappointing and quick and… final.

"I loved you, Germany" he murmured, his smile strengthening a bit as he rubbed a lone tear away. "But it's useless to keep on pretending".

He straightened up, breathing evenly, and bit his lower lip. He had the sudden, strong need to call America. He had to tell him. America was a friend, a close one, and knew that things between Italy and Germany had been tense; he had to know about this.

Quickly, fingers almost trembling whilst he composed the number on his phone, heart quickening whilst he listened to the beeping sound of the call being transferred, Italy tried to calm himself down.

"Hello?"

All of Italy's control just crumbled then, hearing America's voice. Tears started running down his cheeks, and he froze, unable to stop them. _'Why am I…'_

"Uh… Italy? Is that… are you crying?" America's voice was urgent and a bit panicky, and the thought of the American worrying over him made Italy feel both better and worse.

"A–Alfred" he muttered, choking onto a sob. "Y–yea. Nothing's wrong, I swear" he chuckled though, part of him amused at his own choice of words. Yes, everything was just the way it had to be. "I settled things with Ludwig" he continued, voice steadying a bit.

A pause on the other end, and what felt like something metallic falling on the floor.

"Is that so? That's great, Italy! Congratulations! So now that you two are an item, I guess you won't… won't have time for old friends like good ol' me…" America's tone shifted lower, holding something close to contempt. Italy could have deciphered it better if he wasn't crying and actually a mess on his own.

"N–no, that's not it at all" he sniffled, finally able to stop his crying. Hearing Alfred's voice had a strange soothing power. "Not in that sense. Things are… settled. He… we… we're just… it's just friends, Alfred".

Another long pause.

"Friends?"

Italy nodded, then realising the other couldn't be able to see him, he hummed. "Yes. Friends".

The following pause was accompanied by the background music of a freezer door being opened and then shut close.

"Are you ok? Do you want me… to come over?" America didn't have that much tact, but he knew how to use the small amount he owned.

"I'd like to see you later today, but I have to… finish this thing with Ludwig now" Feliciano gripped his phone tightly in his trembling hands. "Please come over around dinner. We'll go out somewhere".

It showed America clearly that he was upset, for he didn't offer to cook.

Shutting off the call, Italy felt terribly calmer. His tears dried out, his hands having suddenly stopped trembling, he realised he'd relied so much on Alfred that just listening to his voice had helped, even though they had barely talked at all.

He felt even guiltier for having stolen an entire evening of Alfred's time, but this time he needed it.

Turning around, and seeing Germany approaching him with two giant beers, Italy felt his lips stretch into a small, tired smile –but it was heartfelt.

He might as well have fun now.

–––

**SOY:** gomen ne for the angst, I couldn't truly leave it out, given the fact that we need them all to clear up. I went way light on it than I could have had, so you're lucky.

Please drop a comment, and sorry again for the slow updates ;A;


	13. Chapter 12

**SOY:** yeah, sorry for this lateness. I promise I'll be faster, but RL made me sad lately and I didn't want to write at all…

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+ ish again.

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 12**

In the end, after a quiet dinner at a small, rustic Italian taverna, America and Italy found themselves walking down the seaside. Italy had been particularly silent through all the dinner, and America had decided not to interrupt his thoughts, only sharing some pleasantries and commenting on the food, but otherwise quiet as well.

Then, without warning, Italy flopped down on the sand, snuggling on it a bit despite knowing it'd get inside his clothes, and looked at the sea.

From Venice, the sea didn't look quite as amazing as it did where he was standing now, with no one around but America, whose presence comforted him so much, and no pollution to disrupt the beautiful colours of the waters.

America sighed and sat down at his side, knees drawn to his chest and arms folded over them, eyes shifting from the beautiful sea sight to Italy at his side, waiting for him to speak.

"I loved him" Feliciano murmured, still looking in front of him. "I really did. He was always nice to me, and he protected me, and he's always been there when everyone else considered me nothing more than useless trash. Even knowing that romantic love was not there on either side… it still _hurts_" hands clenched on the sand, feeling it trickle out of his grip.

Still, America didn't reply.

"I think I leaned on him too much, always have" Italy continued, closing his eyes. "Now I feel like I don't have… a support. I'm suddenly out in the open and it feels… it feels…"

How could he explain it? He was ok with things between himself and Germany, he was relieved, happy, and yet…

And yet, it still hurt. And he felt suddenly alone, having given up on something he'd been holding close for so long. Like being coped in a small but warm, familiar room for so long that once out, the only thing you could see was the immense space outside, and being afraid of it instead of watching its beauty.

He opened his arms wide, taking in the empty, big beach around them, and then curled them around himself.

Then, just when he realised his eyes were filled with tears again, Feliciano felt two arms slowly wrap around his shoulders, and he was brought in a warm embrace; Alfred was looking to the sea, cheeks flushed red, but offered all the comfort he could.

He knew how the other was feeling, having felt the same with England. He'd loved the Englishman for a long time, but the inability to make their obvious reciprocal love turn into something _real_ had drained everything away.

England had been his shore, his safe spot, his anchor for so many decades… and yet… and now…

Oh, he did understand what Italy felt.

And he felt so horribly happy inside that the guilt was eating him. When Italy had called, crying, America had felt the world crumble under his feet. He hadn't wanted it to come this soon. To have to let go of the only person he'd lov… crushed on after England.

He didn't want to let Italy go.

Not now. Not after everything that happened, even if it had been fast and–

But then, Italy's admission –_"He… we… we're just… it's just friends, Alfred"_ had made him so incredibly happy that he'd for a moment forgot Italy was still crying on the other side. He had just felt his heart burst warm in his chest.

It was so _bad_, and so good all the same.

Feliciano let a sound in–between a whine and a gasp and buried his face in Alfred's chest, sobbing hard, fingers digging into the fabric of his bomber jacket and holding onto it with all of his strength.

Alfred closed his eyes. "It's ok to have to let go" he murmured back, after what felt hours of simply holding the trembling form of his crush. His tone made Feliciano's sobs quieten. He chuckled and added, almost as a joke "I could be your hero –after all, we're _friends_".

And how choked that last part came out… but Alfred knew better than to reveal his crush. Not now. Not when Italy still felt so confused and hurt over decades of holding onto the hope that Ludwig would reciprocate his feelings.

Italy snuggled in the embrace, soothed and flushing at the unexpected but terribly nice words, and breathed deeply, feeling contented and warm, surrounded by America's scent… something that spoke of clear rivers in deep, untainted forests in the past, of meat burned in camps during harsh winters, or freedom and old ideals.

America… Italy could have never believed that in such a short time, the two of them could bond so strongly, that he could come to depend on the other's presence so much, that he was the one he'd called –before his own brother, with whom he would speak later in the night, before his older friends…

America had jumped in front of everyone, even Germany –and not just because Italy had used his new friendship with him to run from his failing relationship. No. Italy cared deeply for America. So, so, so deeply that he'd been about to give up on mending things with Germany solely to be able to keep being with _America_.

Wait, what…

Then, just as it was, Italy stilled.

Hands previously clenching America's jacket relaxed and fell to the sides, on cooling sand. Eyes still teary and reddened widened in shock, one ear able to feel the thumping of America's heart.

Had he really been this stupid, to not notice?

The revelation hit with the strength of a lightening, striking his brain and destroying his consciousness.

America was… _America was_…

Cheeks burning in shame, Italy's eyes filled with tears again. He'd been so wrong, oh so wrong. He'd denied himself with Germany, and then he had pointedly ignored his own feelings, and now… and now…

'_Oh, Dio, Dio, Dio'_ unable to pull away, but unable to stay put, Italy sobbed again, arms encircling America's midsection with as much strength he could muster. _'I'm in… I… with Alfred…'_

Life had a terribly mean way to mess up his life. First love –a failure, too young to realise the depth of his feelings until his dear one was long dead. Second love –a failure… he'd ruined everything because of his fear and indecision. And now… and now… his third love was the best friend he could ever ask for.

"Come on, Italy, don't cry, it'll be ok…" Alfred patted his back awkwardly, forcing away his flush, and watched the water, completely oblivious to the real cause of Italy's new wave of distress.

They didn't move until the moon had long started her ride through the sky.

…………………………

When Feliciano opened the front door and stepped inside, he found his brother waiting for him, awake and with two cups of hot tea in front of him.

Hadn't his tears dried up whilst with America, Italy would have started crying again, but as it was, he simply smiled tiredly at his brother and gratefully sat down, sipping some of the liquid and waiting for the other to speak first.

"You know I felt it" Romano murmured, twitching in his seat.

No matter what, they had a bond unlike that of any other. They were not just brothers… they were part of the same nation. The bond they shared was deeper than anyone ever thought, so they could feel clearly if one of them was in pain. It only rarely happened, nowadays, though… emotions strong enough to pull from one to the other.

And Romano had felt it –he'd been cleaning and cutting tomatoes with Spain when a strong wave of pain had washed through him, almost choking him, followed by some sort of bittersweet relief.

He hadn't known what had happened, but his first reaction had been to go hit Germany, because well, his brother had been with Germany, and that hurt… that pain…

Spain had stopped him, embraced his shaking form and offered as much comfort as he could, calming him down enough that when he _did_ seek Germany out, he wasn't seething anymore, just worried.

It was pretty easy to understand what had happened, even though Ludwig had been completely ignorant about it, the emotion–lacking potato bastard.

"I– I was out with Alfred" Italy replied, eyes fixed down on his tea. "It helped with the situation with Germany".

"I figured" was Romano's hasty reply.

Italy's eyes moved sharply to him. "What does that–" then he froze, meeting his brother's calm eyes. "You… you knew" he breathed out, shocked. "All this time… and you knew…?"

The other shrugged. "I had my suspicions".

Feliciano flopped down on the chair, overwhelmed. So he had been oblivious to his own feelings whilst Lovino… really, he was shameful.

There it was, his last flimsy hope he'd been crushing on America merely because things with Germany hadn't been going well. Actually, he didn't _really_ believe that. His feelings for America had been there for a while, growing without him noticing, but it wasn't a way to forget Germany.

He truly, _truly_ loved…

"Well, it's not like it matters" he murmured then.

"You're not going to act on your feelings?" Romano blinked, surprised. He'd thought that Feliciano would just jump on the opportunity, seeing how close he was to Alfred and all that jazz.

"What? No, of course not! He has… his relationship with England".

"You're stupid or what?!" Lovino stood up, slamming his hands on the table and making the cups tremble. "It was waiting that made you unable to pursue a real relationship with the potato bastard, are you going to do the same with the American idiot? When are you going to be happy, huh?"

Italy was taken aback by his brother's passionate reply, and blinked, looking down at his joined hands. It was true, though. He had stalled long enough with Germany that in the end, everything had turned into… friendship.

He didn't want this to happen with America.

But…

"Listen, brother" Lovino passed a hand over his face, trying to calm down. "You tell the Burger bastard about your feelings, and if he does not return them, then you can work it out. But don't you dare chicken out before you attempt it!"

Despite wincing at the harsh and true words, Italy couldn't but smile at his brother's choice of words. He'd already decided on a nickname for America, which meant he was ok with it.

More so, he was right. He had to be honest with Alfred, and if the other didn't share his feelings, and never would, at least he'd have tried it out first. Not giving up before anything could happen.

He smiled at Romano, who grunted and looked away, flushing in embarrassment, but with a light grin of his own.

Now, Italy had just to find the right way to confess.

……………………………………………

**StarsofYaoi:** so that was it, another chapter. I hope you liked it, and will try out the two new shots I posted as well (yes, I'm advertising for myself. Sue me XDD). I will continue with the sequel as well asap, I promise…


	14. Chapter 13

**SOY:** another posted chapter. :) we're getting closer with the part about America and England confronting each other. :D just a bit more!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+ ish again.

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 13**

Alfred was pacing around, munching on his third hamburger, whilst Matthew kept staring at him in amusement, holding and petting Kumajirou at the same time, preventing the bear from running around.

"You should stop, Alfred… you're going to make a hole in the carpet~" he chuckled, whilst his white bear looked up at him with a soft 'who?'. "I'm _Canada_, Kumajirou! I _feed_ you! I _pet_ you! I _groom_ you!"

"I can't stop! Not now!" he kept pacing, trying to make sense in his jumbled feelings. "I just can't go to him and tell him 'hey, Italy, know what? I really like you!' and expect him to believe me!"

Canada snorted. "Well, I didn't say you'd have to tell him _this_ way…"

"But it is too soon. He just understood how things with Germany are… it would be stupid of me to go and confess right now. He'd think I'm just using this opportunity, or that I just faked our friendship, or… shit, I don't want to _ruin_ this! It's _too important_!"

Canada blinked in surprise at his brother's vehement answer; people used to underestimate America's intelligence just because he acted rash and loud and well, stupid most of the time, but when it mattered, he truly showed his brilliance.

He guessed with Italy it was just the same, he merely liked to act silly and bright and bouncy, but when in his element he showed his brilliance, too.

"Alfred, I also didn't tell you to move quickly… just be there for him, ok? You'll find the right moment to confess… oh, wait, crap… what about Arthur?"

America ceased his pacing to throw a confused gaze at Matthew, and the latter rolled his eyes –so much for brilliance… when concentrating on something, Alfred easily forgot about everything else.

"You have to… be honest with England too" voice lowering, trying not to upset his brother, Canada leaned forwards, clutching Kumajirou closer. "He still… you two… your relationship… don't you think you should also close things up, like Italy did, before pursuing someone else? It would be honest towards Italy just as well, or he might think you're really placing your foot in two shoes… or is it that you keep hoping for something to happen between you and England?"

America's eyes lit up in realisation; he frowned, turning from his previous excited face into a calmer, quiet one.

Canada was right, he had to admit it. He didn't want to seem a bastard. His love for England had dimmed away, gone and now replaced by his serious, heartfelt crush for Italy. He could say he loved Italy, maybe not as strongly as he'd loved England, but he also knew his love for England had blossomed with time, and that at first it hadn't been that strong to begin with.

He knew he was honest with his feelings, and that he would grow to love Italy more. He loved him already. Hard.

But first he had to be honest with Arthur and cut every chance for something to be between them.

It was a bit sad, too, but… America _didn't want_ anything to happen between them anymore. They could only be friends, and he'd always hold England dear, but… nothing romantic could ever happen anymore.

That chance had dried out.

"You surely are helpful, Mattie" he murmured, moving closer to his brother and seeking a hug from him. "Thanks".

Despite everything, they were still close, and it was a real comfort.

"You're welcome" was the reply. "Now, could you stop your hatred with Cuba so he'll stop punching me…?"

Alfred chuckled.

"I'll try" he promised.

Then, he picked his phone and dialled England's number, feeling his skin ripple in anticipation. He wasn't quite looking forwards to that talk.

"Yes?" England's ruff voice answered on the other end, and America took a deep breath to steady himself. "Who's there?"

"It's Alfred" he replied. "Hello, Arthur".

There was a pause, then England's gruff voice lowered a bit, sounding the lightest bit softer. "Alfred! It has been a while… it's… strange of you to call me nowadays".

"Yes, I know" a small smile made its way on America's lips. "Listen, I think we have to talk, Artie –you don't mind if we go somewhere, right?"

"O–of course not, you git" was the reply. England sounded relieved. "I'll see you at seven sharp this evening, ok?"

"Fine –but don't cook, ok? That'd… kind of ruin it. We'll order something out" America hastened to add, not wanting to have to bear with England's horrible cooking.

"… ok, fine" strangely, Arthur relented far too easily, but Alfred didn't think much of it.

Placing down his phone, America exchanged a look with Canada, who smiled at him in encouragement.

It was just about time, he guessed.

…………………………

Despite what he'd promised his brother, America found himself walking through his city in order to find a good gift for Italy.

He knew he had to talk things out with England first, but as optimistic as he was that an old man like England would surely understand, since he, too, must have been pissed off with their useless banter, he knew that the talk would stress him, and he was already planning on visiting Italy the following morning in order to spend some time with him.

Italy was filled with calm, beautiful places –not that America didn't have any, after all, America was awesome… but there was something enticing in the European countries that had always fascinated America, despite his geographic fail knowledge.

And now that his newfound feelings for Italy were rolling around unbidden, he wanted to exploit it as much as he could.

So, instead of spending the last few hours before his speech with England preparing what he would say (which was not him at all), he was spending them searching a gift.

Not any gift.

A gift that could, you know, move things a bit. Of course he didn't want to rush things out. Italy was worth more than some cheap attempt. But America really wanted to find something to give him.

Something meaningful.

Unfortunately, he was walking around since mid–afternoon and he had yet to find the perfect gift… he wasn't that good with that, after all last time he had to give England something, he had settled on recycling Russia's condoms pack…

The thought sent a flush straight to his cheeks, as he couldn't figure himself giving Italy _that_ –ever. It was obvious how different things were with him.

Alas, he figured giving Italy hamburgers just because he was fond of them wouldn't be a good idea… something that had to do with art, maybe, since Italy was so into it?

Or maybe…

"Ice Cream! Come and buy your ice cream in over 39 different flavours!"

America's head snapped up, eyes brightening up and locating the ice cream vendor not far from him; oh, with some ice cream, the world would surely be brighter, and he could also find the perfect gift for Italy! He was sure of that!

"Ice cream~!" America started running off like he was chased by Switzerland and all of his guns, heading straight towards the Ice cream stand, eyes twinkling in happiness–

Then the world toppled over, and he was flying. Towards the ice cream, yes, but still flying. The fall followed suit, almost in slow–motion, so suddenly the slip on that damn banana peel, but falling nonetheless. He'd barely the time to blink and wonder how familiar that feeling was, when he crashed and rolled over on the ground, centimetres from a munched chewing gum on the street walk.

"… urgh" he tentatively stood up, wincing when his bones cracked, but relieved nothing was broken –it would be quite embarrassing, especially since it had happened once already, and…

Looking up, blue wide eyes met with a pair of deep green ones.

…………………………

Italy, feeling better than he ever had, bounced around the house, picking up things and cleaning up the mess of his house, a smile on his lips and singing to the tune of a radio song. The house looked bright, solar and so big around him.

He was happy.

More than happy, he was relieved. He felt cheerful, terribly so, and felt like he could move entire mountains.

He had found out the perfect way to let America know of the feelings he harboured. It wasn't the most romantic or the most inventive way, but it was still something, and he wanted to work that out.

It was an entirely Italy thing, and the sole idea made him giggle.

America had, not even a week before, asked him to paint for him. So, paint he would. Create the perfect painting, put all of his feelings into it, and gift it to America, and at the same time, reveal what he felt for him.

A painting… it was something Italy could do without messing up.

If America rejected him, which was far too probable, Italy would be hurt, and their friendship would suffer, but at least, he would have been honest with them both, and maybe, just maybe, America would still want to be his friend.

After all, the American nation could pardon. He was younger than Italy was, all considered, but he was anything but cruel. He wouldn't think too much about it, thinking Italy's feelings were just an attempt to forget Germany…

Italy knew he couldn't expect a positive answer for his feelings, but he still could hope for the better option.

His brother was right. He couldn't give up, this time.

Chirping, Italy settled the room, looking at the white canvas standing right in front of the giant window with a proud look. The colours, splashed on the wooden palette on the small table, were waiting for him to pick them up –the brush was there, ready for his fingers.

Everything felt… everything was…

Oh, so beautiful.

When was the last time he had been able to paint? Nowadays, it always felt like everything was more important than just sit down and paint. There were so many papers to sign, running around as his boss asked, and looking at his children living a hurried life… America had been his small, cute heaven of peace, and now he found his other one in his art.

Italy walked towards the canvas, picked up his brush, and started painting.

……………………………………………

**StarsofYaoi:** there, another chapter. I've been rather absent from this fanfic and its sequel, I feel guilty.


	15. Chapter 14

**SOY:** another chapter. It's really close to the end, right now, so keep following me to the last chapter! *hugs*

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+ ish again.

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 14**

Italy worked without stopping for the whole afternoon, eyes never lifting from the canvas, not even noticing as Romano passed in front of the door, throwing somewhat pleased looks inside before leaving with Spain. Not even noticing the phone ringing once, then twice, the sound echoing in the silent house until it ended abruptly.

Uncaring, Italy continued drawing, hands flying on the canvas, colour after colour mixing on the white, lines and shapes gaining form, together with his bright smile, and everything blended together and was perfect…

"Feliciano?"

Italy let out a loud gasp and the brush fell from his fingers, rolling away from him and sprawling his pants and the floor with brown paint. Wide eyes snapped away from the painting and looked up, meeting with the unexpected figure of England standing in his studio, looking at him in vague surprise.

"Ve… Arthur?" Italy backed away from the painting and quickly side–stepped it, coming closer to the Englishman, tilting his head in surprise. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I met your brother whilst I was coming here, and he said I could come in, because you would be so into your painting you wouldn't listen to me…" England scratched his nose, shifting from one feet to the other whilst his cheeks coloured red. "I guess he was right, because I phoned you thrice, and you didn't answer".

Italy blinked again, then looked at the giant, old Swiss clock on the wall and was surprised to see it was already past six in the afternoon. Outside the window, the shadows had extended, even if not enough to stop him from using sunlight to paint.

"Oh… sorry, Arthur" scratching the back of his head sheepishly, Italy smiled. "Wait, why are you here, ve~?"

England cleared his throat. Whilst on the plane directed towards Italy, his determination had guided his actions and his thoughts, and he had clear in mind what he wanted to tell the Italian –how he was glad he was such a good friend of Alfred, but that he was also a bit jealous, which was of course silly, considering it was Feliciano they were talking about…

He had prepared his little speech, asking Italy to step aside, because he truly needed the time to sort things with America, and then everything would go back to how it should be, and Italy could return to Germany and go back to his simple being acquaintance of America…

This had been England's plan, of course, flawed but simple, egoistic, but England didn't want to think about that. And he had reached Italy's house to get it all out of his system… feeling silly for thinking that Italy could be an obstacle…

Then, he'd reached the studio, and had seen Italy paint.

The sight…

Oh, definitely, Italy looked completely different. The brightness, the happy motions, it all was there, but at the same time, England had finally noticed what very few others had managed to see –the serious side of Italy, what was always hidden and never seeing the surface unless in private.

Italy was completely different when painting, and if the eyes truly were mirrors of the soul, England had been allowed to see the true Italy, or at least, a glimpse of it, by how those brown eyes stared at the paint, at the brush, at the canvas in front of him.

The raw passion, always growing, never fading… the power that had nothing to do with war, the strength that had nothing to do with being able to resist during a battle, and hold a sword or a gun.

All his fears had a basis then –he could now see what America found in Italy, apart being a good, silly company. What could attract the American to the Italian, if the chance existed. There was something in the other nation that spoke of ancient, like England was. Art and beauty, and scenery and still fresh and _new_.

England had felt older all the same, even though he wasn't older than Italy, in terms of nations.

Now he needed to know. He had to.

"Italy, I need to ask you something really important" England shifted forwards, grabbing Italy's shoulders and holding them tightly. Italy blinked, managing not to shift away, and met England's darkened eyes.

"Italy, you quickly became America's best friend" he stated. Gone was his prepared speech, gone were the pleasantries. His tone was raw, pained, trembling and unsure. His stare was wavering, his hands trembling.

All in all, England was a mess.

Italy hesitantly nodded.

"You… you've been good for him" England cleared his throat again, looking to the side, feeling ashamed. "He's been happy. Our banters… our banters were forced, and I never noticed… it took the intervention of someone outside to make me see it…"

Feliciano stared at Arthur, slowly starting to get where the speech was going. His own eyes widened, and he felt the irrational need to run. He didn't want to know…

He didn't–

"But I want to mend things" England urged, looking back into Italy's eyes. "I want America to be happy… I thought he would be happy with me, but I chose the wrong method. I love him, Italy. Really. I do love him. I want to see if I can sort everything out, if there is still a chance… if we can exist together, if our special _relationship_ can be saved".

His words came out fumbled together, messy, but heartfelt. Italy shifted uneasily, feeling as if claws had grabbed his heart and were clenching it tightly.

"Italy, I ended up seeing you as… my… rival. Can you understand this?"

Feliciano slowly nodded. He, too, felt the same towards Arthur. Because they both loved America dearly, and not as friends. But of course, only Italy knew that.

It was strange, in a way. And Italy could understand this was another one of those battles that were lost at start. It was just like usual. What kind of leverage could he have, knowing America as a friend for what, a few months? It wasn't much, compared to the centuries tying England and America together.

And yet… he had promised Romano he wouldn't back down.

"So I have to ask you, Italy, forgive me" England shook his head, staring right into Italy's eyes. "Do you… _love_ America?" a small pause, then he hastily added "Do you love him like I do?"

Italy couldn't look away from those green eyes; he thought of America's happy face when throwing those damn balls at the amusement park. He thought of Poppo, still placed on top of his bed, cuddled every evening. He thought of the Harry Potter movie, of their eating out, of the exhibition, of America's arms around his shoulders the night his world crumbled around him.

Most of all, Italy thought about his painting, now almost completely finished, which was standing at his side, tilted so England couldn't see it.

If Arthur had been able to see the painting, he would have understood what Italy's feelings were without even trying.

"No" he stated, smiling. "I don't".

Italy wouldn't lie, of course. But his love for America was, indeed, different than that of England. They had grown in different ways, expanding differently, one with time, slowly, having to fight against everything… the other quickly, without bumps on the road.

But there again, Feliciano had learned something important from his relations with Ludwig. In the end, Alfred was the only one who could decide for himself. There was nobody else who could do it for him.

Of course, Italy didn't hold many hopes in this department, especially when America's eyes filled with so much pain talking about England… it was obvious that America cared so much for him still, despite his decision to get away from him.

But still… but still…

He would wait, and no matter what would come of Alfred's speech with Arthur, he would open his heart and be at peace.

England's hands fell from his shoulders, and his expression cleared.

"Oh" he stated, feeling embarrassed and out of place. Slowly, he backed away, rubbing one hand over his chin and blushing, looking everywhere but at Italy. "Oh, that's… that's limpid" he added, clearing his throat. "So… uh, sorry for coming here, uninvited, and… yeah…"

England turned around about to leave, but Italy stepped forwards, his smile freezing on his lips. There was something he had to say himself, something that had bothered him for a bit, but that had gained in importance only lately…

"Ah… Arthur?" the other stopped, tilting his head to the side and looking back at him without actually meeting his eyes, cheeks flushed. "I wonder… sorry if I am imposing, but… I wonder, if you ever thought over your feelings for Alfred? Are you… being honest with yourself?"

England's shoulders tensed so quickly Italy thought he might have had a cramp, then he hissed out something and left in a hurry, bowing and excusing himself.

Italy watched him go, still smiling, even though his heart was tight and the smile wasn't as warm as it had been before. England had asked him if he loved America, and if he loved him the same way _he_ did, but Italy had only answered the second question.

"I might not love him like you do, Arthur," he whispered to the empty room, eyes flickering longingly to his painting. "But I _do_ love Alfred".

…………………………

When England opened his door, clothes in a pristine condition and pride recovered, what he saw wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

"Iggy!" America beamed up at him.

England looked down. Two pairs of green eyes met. One blinked. The other followed suit.

"… Alfred? What the hell is… _this_?"

America's smile faltered in a confused expression. "What do you mean, what is it? It's a cat, of course! Or better then, it's a kitten! Isn't she just the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

England leaned forwards a bit, still observing the small fluffy ball nested in America's hands, curled in them and purring contentedly. It was small, terribly small, and as black as charcoal, with deep, bright green eyes.

The moment England was close enough, she meowled lightly and pawed in his general direction, basically looking cute and flickering her tongue at him; England shifted back.

"A kitten" he stated, straightening back and looking at America with unreadable eyes. "Why would you… why did you… oh, enough of _that_" he massaged his forehead, and breathed deeply. There was no need to get irked over a stupid cat.

"I bought her for Italy!"

Ok, so there _was_ indeed a reason to get irked over a stupid cat.

"You bought this kitten for Italy?" England stared into America's open eyes, feeling somewhat desperate. "Why? And why would you bring it with you here? No restaurant will want to let us in with that cat".

The kitten pawed a bit around again, then curled into America's hand and yawned. Carefully, Alfred placed her in a basket case and looked back up at Arthur, shaking his head, the smile returning but taking on a slightly sharper quality. "Certain restaurants do, believe me. I checked. I brought her with me because it was too late when I bought her to go back home and ask Mattie to take care of her. And about the reason… well, we're here to talk, are we?"

England nodded, almost clipped, and led the way to the centre of London, feeling America's presence behind him.

During the walk, as he stared around in search of a restaurant good enough to serve decent food and still open to animals, England once again reconsidered every step in their relationship, and where he had failed.

Maybe it was both of their fault for never getting anywhere, but biting and swallowing his pride, England could admit he was the one mostly at fault.

Finally, the restaurant.

Dining was pleasant, if only quiet, with both America and England mulling over what they had to say, what they felt they needed to say. America was right, and they did find one that allowed America to keep the basket close, as long as they ate on the terrace and not inside, and they did, since it was a warm evening anyway.

The cute kitten slept through most of the dinner, only waking up once when America sneaked some water for her to lap, and then falling back into purring sleep, and England kept his eyes glued to America's jacket, where the logo was, unable to start what would be the conversation that could turn his entire world upside–down.

"Arthur" America breathed deeply, knowing they could not stall it anymore. "I'm sorry I avoided you so much in the last few months" he started, feeling actually guilty about that.

He had acted like a child, trying to escape from his problems, but now, he would confront them.

"I'm… I'm glad we could talk" England replied, sipping his wine and wishing it was something stronger. "I've… thought about this a lot, you know".

America hummed, nodding.

"We weren't going anywhere" he stated, matter–of–factly. "We kept bitching and attacking each other, but we never truly… it never did help, did it?"

The Englishman shook his head, lips twitching down. "Nope" he admitted. "I don't understand why I liked to rile you up, but you did it yourself, and it kind of felt good. It was the only way we ended up relating to each other, and I was afraid we'd stop".

Alfred tapped his fingers on the table, eyes shifting to the side for a moment.

"You know what I think? I've had a bit to consider our situation. I think we both allowed ourselves to play too much, because we were not comfortable with each other, and were still holding too much on our past".

England's attention turned sharply on him, vaguely surprised at hearing such insight from the person who kept proposing to build giant heroes to save the world.

"Sounds proper" he muttered after thinking it over.

It was what he had thought too, when he had seen how much time America and Italy were spending together.

"I guess it's time to be completely honest with each other, Iggy" America seemed to straighten up with these words, breathing deeply and capturing the other's eyes. England found he couldn't breathe. "I've loved you for a long, long time…"

England felt his cheeks heat up, hands clenching into fists on his lap…

"But now…" America's eyes narrowed a bit, pain flashing all over his determined face "now, I don't love you anymore. I fell in love with Italy, Arthur".

……………………………………………

**StarsofYaoi:** ok, another chapter is done, and wow, look at the semi–cliff hanger… don't hate me :D


	16. Chapter 15

**SOY:** so you've been waiting for this chapter? sorry if it's so short… I hope you enjoy!

Next chapter is the LAST ONE everyone!

……………………………………………

**Rating**: K+ ish again.

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Eggshells**

**Chapter 15**

"_But now…" America's eyes narrowed a bit, pain flashing all over his determined face "now, I don't love you anymore. I fell in love with Italy, Arthur"._

England blinked, feeling his ears buzz, and steadied himself by grabbing the table hard.

"Ah…" he forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, in and out, and after a moment, the buzzing in his ears died down. "Y… wh…" he stopped, swallowing hard. "You what…?"

America also took a deep breath, reaching out to grasp at England's hand. "I… I didn't want to think about us… I was unhappy because we were not advancing, because I felt this wasn't what I wanted… I wanted _more_, you know? I wanted to be able to spend some time with you and just talk… not yell or fight. And be able to relax… we never did that, either" America spoke quietly, trying to keep England's attention on him, even though it looked like his earlier confession had shocked him more than he'd expected.

"I…"

"It's _true_" America continued, serious. "When was last time we just tried to… take it easy? We never did, Iggy. Never. Laughing and talking and…" he faltered, seeing those green eyes looking lost. "I can do this with Italy. We talk. We have fun, and yet we can be serious, and talk without having to hesitate about things that might hurt… and… and I like this about me and him. I like this. I'm happy, and I couldn't be happy until I broke out of this… this _thing_ between you and me, and…"

The hand holding his moved away and America hid his face, breathing deeply and trying to find the right words to explain.

"A–and then I couldn't but think about how, even though I'm strong, and I'm self reliant, you still needed to control me, and maybe it's what's wrong… I felt that you didn't really want us to be a couple… you just wanted me to be with you".

England frowned, staring right into America's eyes and trying to clear his mind. Things were coming down onto him too fast, and he was…

"Isn't… isn't this the same…?" he asked, controlling himself. "I love you…"

"I know it might sound like it is…" America bit his lower lip, pushing his glasses up. "But England… I also love you… but it's not any kind of romantic love… it's not like that anymore. I still care for you… but… ah, crap!" he ruffled his own hair in anger, unable to explain himself.

Under the confused and hurt eyes of the Englishman, America snapped his head up, grabbing his hand again "England, is it that you love me and want my love, or you love me and want… to _own me_?"

England stilled.

"Me as a country, as a person, as someone who was once part of the territories you controlled… "

"I–it's not that!" England exploded, slamming his hands on the table and attracting the eyes of the other people dining around them. He flushed hard, sitting down again. "It's not that" he repeated with a lower tone, hissing every word. "I'm not… I'm not out for your territories! I don't want to own you… I don't".

America felt a smile tug at his lips. "I know".

The other was startled, his anger evaporating. "Then why did you–"

The teasing smile he received back confused him even more. There he was, America candidly admitting he didn't love him anymore, and yet he was teasing him… England frowned. He didn't really know much of heart break, indeed, but shouldn't it hurt more than it was?

He didn't understand. He had just lost to Italy for the one person he had wanted for so long, and yet… he didn't feel angered at Italy –the Italian… he'd said he didn't love America, but maybe that had been a nice lie.

If the feelings Alfred felt for Feliciano were returned, Arthur knew it would be ok. They were good for each other… and either way, he couldn't compete, could he? America could make his choice. He wasn't his little brother anymore. He was big enough to not need babysitting anymore.

Not need _him_ anym…

England frowned. "… my little…"

"… Arthur?" America leaned forwards, a bit worried at England's sudden grimace.

Green eyes looked up. And what he saw, for a spilt moment, was not the present time America, staring at him in concern. What he saw was that young, small, almost defenceless not–yet–Nation from back then… looking up at him and sweetly calling him brother. "I…"

They stared at each other again, then England looked down, trying to think straight. When he spoke again, he did it so quietly America had to lean forwards, and even then, it didn't feel like England was really talking to him. "I don't know anymore… I've loved you for so long, that I never really questioned… where that love came from… it was just there, and it felt righteous, and…"

"… Iggy?"

"And I didn't want you with others. It hurt, when you left me. I… I didn't want to have nothing to do with you anymore. And yet… and yet I also wanted you back in my life. You were… you were all I had. Without you, I was back to being the same lonely bastard I had been before… you turned to be my family, even though I denied that… I still wanted our relationship to work out…" _'Have my little brother back…'_

There was a long pause.

"I don't want you out of my life though, Arthur" America stated, honest. "I've considered you my older brother for too long to be able to let go of this!"

Arthur was startled to hear such words coming out of Alfred's mouth, and flushed "I've also considered you a brother! My little brother! But… but…"

"England, you should make up your mind… is a brother what you're searching, or is it a lover?"

"_I wonder… I wonder, if you ever thought over your feelings for Alfred? Are you… being honest with yourself?"_ Italy's words echoed in his mind again, making England choke.

Had he ever? Was love of that kind the only thing that connected him with America? Seeing him grow up, grow strong, independent…

America, the one England considered like a little brother, a son, and then… then what? What did he want from America? Complete attention? Utter devotion? Love?

Yes, all of that. England had longed to be the sole person America would look up to. The one he would love and respect. He'd wanted this back then, when tutoring the kid, and he'd wanted that even when America, stronger and not needing him anymore, had turned his back to him, leaving him alone again.

England hadn't wanted America's body because of lust. No, he had always considered lust below his feelings for America. No, he wanted his heart. His mind. His everything. His attention, too…

Was this _love_? Or was this a simple need for something he had never felt?

Surely England loved America, but… did he love him of the kind of love America needed? Did England love America as a potential lover, or did he love him like a dotting family, one that wouldn't allow their child to grow up and leave?

England loved America. Teased him, brought fights up with him, the same fights his older brothers used to pick with him once. Before they left, before he controlled them, and before their relationships cooled down. Before he was left alone again.

Was his desire to have a family, to receive love and give it back, so strong he had failed to see, failed to understand…

Had he failed again?

In so many ways… he had.

Hurting America, forcing America to hurt _him_, unable to work it properly for lack of experience, he had solely relied on his own desire, growing it to disastrous proportions, mistaking something for something _else_ entirely.

A kind of love with another. It was still love, but it was different altogether. And despite his age, England suddenly felt far too young to deal with this. Embarrassment didn't cut it _at all_…

Green eyes, lucid with emotions, looked up, meeting the warm, steady ones of the person he considered family, the first in so many centuries.

"I finally gave up, and I found something better" America stated, so warmly that England felt his heard give in. "When will _you_?"

'_I wasn't for you, and you were not for me, but surely someone is. Someone loves you enough somewhere. It is not me. Just like you are not the one who can love me like I need… it's time to let go. Be family'._

"My boy, you've really, really…" England's eyes filled with tears, and he slumped forwards, forehead hitting America's shoulder and resting there.

His America, who had grown so much.

And that was it. The climax of centuries of hurt, of pain, of useless fights and banters, the end of centuries of repressed resentment due to a war that they both knew had been the only fair alternative.

Brothers. _Family_.

Arthur felt the sudden compulsory need to laugh, for a long time, at his stupidity.

"You should go now, America. I think you have somewhere else to be" he sniffed, his shoulders relaxing as he spoke.

"England," America's eyes filled with worry. "Shouldn't I just…"

"Don't be silly, you git. Go, idiot. That poor cat is probably fainting in hunger" he scolded, straightening up. "I'll be fine. I'll just move from here to the next pub, and drown my idiocy away where no one knows me".

America blinked, but there was a quite steady smirk on England's lips that finally reassured him everything was ok.

Then, he was gone, holding the basket to his chest.

**Omake**

England bit on his lower lip, standing up from the now empty table and alerting the waiter for the bill. America had left without a word, and the dinner was finished.

He paid the whole dinner with his card and left, never looking back and walking down the street whilst looking at the lights coming from the closed shops. London was still bright around him, still alive despite the confusion and regret he felt in his heart.

Looking up, Arthur wished for a moment that London's smog didn't exist, so that he could look to the sky and the stars instead of the packed cloudy grey.

"_Angleterre_".

England's shoulders tensed, and he didn't turn around, even though his lips twitched in a displeased grimace.

"I should have guessed you'd be here to gloat at my expense" he muttered, defeated.

It was just like France to be around at the worst possible moment, and have to watch as England was throughout humiliated, and… and…

"_Mais non_, Arthur…" one hand shifted to his shoulder, pressing onto it, and England felt anger sail up to his brain. He spun around, growling at Francis, only to find a pair of sympathetic, calm eyes staring at him.

France was not smiling. And definitely _not_ smiling smugly.

"Fran…"

Once again, France pressed one hand on his shoulder, directing him away from his previous destination –a close-by pub.

"France, stop– where are you taking me, you git! Let go!" England couldn't push the other away, and had to allow France to drag him away. They walked out of London and away, with the French still leading the way, both of them uncharacteristically silent except England's insults every now and then, until they reached the outskirts, where there were no lampposts, no lights, no smog.

England's latest cursing choked in his throat as he found himself staring in shock at the limpid night's sky, surprised that the frog eater could have read his thoughts so well.

"Francis…?"

"You know the kid deserves his happiness" was what France said, promptly sitting on a stone and extracting a bottle of whine from nowhere.

There was a moment of silence, as England regarded him with wide eyes, then he sighed, slumping down next to the French and grabbing the bottle, sipping directly from it.

"I know. He grew up so fast…"

"You sound like an old man, Arthur" Francis chuckled a bit, taking the bottle for a sip himself.

England snorted.

"Shut up, you'd think the same if Matthew… ah, forget it" England grumpily looked away, but was unable to stay tense, the beauty of the sky making him relax.

France blinked, then a small smile flickered on his lips. "And yet still the same as usual. _Angleterre_, you were going to spend your night away alone and drinking".

England shrugged, throwing a pissed off look at the French Nation. "Gah. You wouldn't understand, you and your lewdness, and don't think I don't know of Matthew, Francis".

France lost it –he laughed, and did it loudly, making the quiet countryside around them fall into silence, all crickets and cicadas shutting up.

"Y–you! What are you… fucking toad sucker!" England stood up, ready to storm off, wondering why he had allowed the French bastard to drag him around like a bag, but a hand wrapped around his wrist, shoving him back down on the stone.

"Relax, _Angleterre_, don't sound so sour" France calmed his laugh, shaking his head in mirth. "You don't have to feel jealous of my relations with dear Matthew, because I've always considered him a younger brother, or… well, a son, perhaps, _non_?"

England froze, blinking in surprise at France.

"So, you…"

"And I had my ideas on you and young America, too" France admitted, nodding.

Arthur let out a pained moan, hiding his face in his hands and grabbing the wine bottle, downing a good sip. "I'm pathetic and loveless" he whined, knowing he was drowning in self–pity and not caring in the least.

Besides, even if this was France he was breaking in front of, the French had seen enough of his lowest to not be too surprised. And if he hadn't laughed and gloated before, he wouldn't do it now.

"You're just stupid, _mon cher Angleterre_" France sighed. he leaned forwards, taking the bottle out of England's hands and taking care in brushing his fingers with England's, slowly, making the other Nation stiffen. "You've always been quite blind… and you never did notice. Someone loves you, and has been waiting for a long time".

England froze, slowly turning to meet with deep blue eyes.

Realisation came crashing on him again, and he flushed, looking away and unable to speak. Francis chuckled, drinking the wine and looking up at the sky.

The night was still young, for all of them.

……………………………………………

**StarsofYaoi:** so, that was the new chapter. I hope the omake satisfied you all…

_Mais non (French)_ - oh, not at all (er, kinda).

_Mon cher Angleterre (French_) – My dear England.

A small note before you can go (or review… I'd like this option :D)… there is a sequel. It's not finished yet, actually it's barely started, but you are free to ignore it, since it deals with mpreg. Yes, AmeIta mpreg. It was asked in the kink meme, and both the OP and the OP for _Eggshells_ agreed I could make it a sequel to this fic.

I am not asking you to read it if you're not ok with it, of course, I'm just warning you that there is a sequel and it's mpreg. ^^


	17. Chapter 16

**SOY:** last chapter. I must admit I am happy I finished this fic, and I'm even happier with the response I received for it :) thank you, readers and reviewers, for sticking with me till the end! Thank you to the bottom of my heart!

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**Rating**: K+ ish again.

**Warnings:** Shounen–ai.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

……………………………………………

**Eggshells**

**Chapter 16**

Romano blinked in surprise, staring at the painting with wide eyes.

"This…" he didn't know what to say.

His brother, once again, had surpassed any expectation, as this painting was… utterly beautiful. Lovino couldn't but feel awe at that, with the colours, and what it represented…

"S–so?" Feliciano stared at his older brother, twisting his hands and looking at the ground at intervals, a light blush on his cheeks. "How is it?"

Lovino took a deep breath, feeling his fingers twitch. He wanted… he wanted to be able to do something like this, too. it was so beautiful, and breathtaking, and just perfect… just like so many other paintings Feliciano had done, which had caused Lovino to feel so inadequate and envious…

He'd always thought that his brother was doing it on purpose –asking his opinion all the time, almost as if showing off in front of him, but… it was just because Feliciano lacked self–esteem, and sought reassurance from his older brother, because to him, what Lovino thought was important.

It took so long to understand this, after many decades spent criticising what Italy did, inwardly hating him, jealous and angry…

Romano's fingers relaxed.

He didn't need his brother's skills. It was strange to realise, but he didn't have to explain his own feelings through something this magnificent for the person he loved. Spain… knew already what he felt for him, and… and it was ok. Lovino didn't really feel that bitter anymore.

They were all growing up, one way or the other, and it was ok.

"It's gorgeous" he murmured, ruffling Italy's hair. "I am sure… I am sure things will go well" his eyes hardened "if they don't, I assure you Finland will have a new bait for his fishing rod".

Italy giggled, playfully swatting at his older brother's arm, but he felt suddenly lighter. It was important to him, if Romano liked.

"_Grazie_" he replied.

He stared at the finally completed painting for a long moment, then glanced at the clock. He had to open all the lights in his studio to be able to refine the details, but he was really satisfied and really tired.

It was so late, and all he wanted was drop to bed and be done with it.

Somewhere, England and America were talking. Part of him was feeling bitter about it, even though he wished America would do whatever it meant for him to be happy, because… he deserved it.

But the knowledge that they might be solving things between them made Italy feel even more tired.

Finally shaking himself out of his thoughts, and offering a smile to his strangely silent brother, who was blushing, Italy gently covered his painting with a cloth and sighed, shoulders dropping. A good night's sleep would do miracles.

It was then that a missile in the shape of America exploded through the studio door, sending it slamming into its hinges and against the wall.

"Feliciano!" he yelled, flushed from running and holding something close to his chest.

Romano blinked in shock, finally coming out from his trance, and threw a scandalised stare at the American; he opened his mouth, about to yell his brain out, then stopped, lowered his pointed finger, and bit on his lower lip hard.

"I–I'll be going to bed now, Feli" he hissed, calm and controlled. "Alfred, I want to see my doors fixed in the morning, otherwise… you _do_ like Tino, do you?"

America blinked, throwing a glance in Romano's direction before completely dismissing his presence and stomping towards Italy, eyes shining. He was determined in explaining everything and of course–

"Ve~ Alfred, what are you doing here? I thought you were with…"

"This is for you!"

Something was forced in Italy's arms, and he looked down, brown eyes wide open. It was a basket (fairly cute basket…?), with a fluffy pillow inside, and a small blanket, and it was moving and…

Wait, moving?

Italy, fighting the urge to yelp and let go of the basket, shifted the blanket instead, fingers trembling… and a small head shuffled out from underneath the nest, a pair of green eyes meeting with his.

The black ball of fluffy fur meowled at him, and a small, terribly cute paw extended towards him.

It was a kitten –and an incredibly adorable one, at that!

"… aah~" Italy found himself fascinated by the small, cute kitten. "It's… oh, Alfred, it's really cute~" he gently touched her head, and she mewled again, rubbing against his finger and pawing happily at it. Italy simply _melted_. "Is it really for me…?"

"Of course!" America's cheeks were stained red as he nodded, also melting at the terribly cute image of Italy and the cat together. "She's… I was thinking of something to give to you, because you've been… really, I… well, and I saw her, and…" he paused, flustered.

Really, after his speech with England, he had exhausted his brain for the day. he could just blush and stare at the adorable duo.

"It's a _she_~ that's so cute! Does she have a name? Does she?" Italy held the kitten close to his chest, and she nailed at his shirt, suckling on the texture, making him coo.

"Well, I thought Mosi could be a cute name" America muttered, looking away. He had the not–so–strange desire to just step forwards and… "it's an old Navajo name, from back then… it actually means cat" he added, feeling a bit silly.

"Awww, that's a cute name. You're named Mosi~ say hello to Alfred, Mosi!" Italy giggled, holding the kitten in one hand and she turned around, loudly mewling at the American Nation, purring contentedly.

Italy acted on an impulse and moved forwards, planting a kiss on America's cheek before realising what he was doing –then, with the speed he only used when retreating from England during WWII, he backed away, cheeks flaring red.

America was equally flushed, speechless at the heartfelt thanks.

Italy put the kitten in her basket and moved it to the corner of the floor, where she would stay quiet, then he turned around, finally realising what time it was and that America was there, instead of…

"Ve~ Alfred, why are you here and not with Arthur?"

America blinked. "Did you speak with Matthew? How do you know…"

"I saw Arthur this afternoon" Italy candidly admitted. "He said he would be talking with…" he frowned, recalling America's words about the cat. "So… you wanted to thank me for listening to you? Are things with Arthur… settled down?"

He felt his throat constrict a bit, but managed to keep a mostly neutral expression.

America's face relaxed. "Yes, we settled things down" he stated, taking a deep breath. This was it. "And now there is something I have to tell you… in regards to that…"

"I'm glad of it. You two are… I mean… I'm happy for you two" Italy stated, clenching his hands together. "But it also means you won't be coming here that much anymore, does it?"

"N–no! that's not it!"

Tilting his head to the side, Italy licked his lips "then, what is it?"

At the same time, America shifted forwards, grabbing one of Italy's fists, and blurted out "I love you!"

The world stopped for a moment.

Italy's brain asked for a rewind, ears buzzing.

"_Che cosa_?" he murmured, for a moment forgetting about America and switching to his own language.

America had also stopped, apparently surprised he had blurted it out so easily, and smiled down at the shell–shocked Italian. Damage done already, he had nothing to lose. "Feliciano, I really, really love _you_".

Italy stumbled backwards, steadying himself on the near chest of drawers, and felt his cheeks turn to the deepest shade of red America had ever seen, only to turn pale a second later.

"Uh…" he was unable to form a coherent sentence, so he simply stared, mouth open, as the American facepalmed.

"This is kind of an… anticlimactic thing, isn't it" Alfred shook his head. "I'm sorry it had to come out like this, I really didn't intend to… but…" he was still holding Italy's hand in his own, and the grip tightened. "But I mean it, Feliciano. During the last few weeks, I… I couldn't stop myself, I just… things shifted in a new perspective and I… kind of… fell in love with you".

Italy's face was still stony, as he stared at America trying to explain things.

"It's that we clicked, didn't we? And we had fun, and I was happy, and it was refreshing and it was new and I just…" he threw his hands to the ceiling, unable to properly explain. "Italy, I'm in love with _you_. I spoke with England, and I explained him that between us… me and him I mean… there could be nothing more than friendship… or family. And that between the two of us, you and I, I mean… there's something special… of a different kind of special!"

America's determination started to waver as Italy didn't react, simply staring at him in shock. He stammered for a bit more before falling silent.

"Ah… Feliciano…" he suddenly felt all his happiness drain away.

Maybe he had been too hopeful for this. Even when talking with England, he had not realised that maybe, just maybe, confessing to Italy could get him a rejection. And yet, he wasn't one to hide how he felt. He was honest with himself and with those he cared for…

And he cared for Italy.

He stepped backwards, flushing and looking to the side, "I'll… I'll let you think about this, ok? You don't have to… I mean, we can still be friends…" oh, god, no. he didn't want to be friends. He didn't want things to go like with England. He wanted… he wanted…

He turned around, feeling a sharp pain somewhere in his chest, and was about to leave the room when a hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him; he turned around, surprised, and saw Italy holding him still. His stony expression was gone, replaced with a deep, violent blush, and there were tears in his eyes.

"You… y–you mean it?" he looked like he had exhausted all his strength to utter this question, falling into silence right after.

America stared into Italy's teary eyes, observed how his hand was trembling whist holding his wrist, how his shoulders were also trembling, as if he was barely holding himself still. He flushed, unsure on how to take this sight, feeling guilty for making the other cry, but also, his hope resurfacing, just a bit…

"Yes, I do… I do mean it, Feliciano" he replied, his own voice low and hushed. "It's… it's not about you as a substitute to Arthur. It's something else entirely. I really, really love you".

Italy trembled, unable to speak, but feeling his heart swelling so much in his chest that it blocked off everything else.

Was this true? He couldn't believe it –someone had chosen him above someone else…?

Italy opened his mouth, but he was shaking so hard he felt a bit like the younger brother of Poland's boyfriend.

"Is there a chance that… for us… is there a chance for us _to be_?" America's hand curled around Italy's own, stopping its trembling, and looking up into those wide blue eyes, Italy knew he needed an answer, he could see how desperate America was…

But he felt too faint to be able to talk, and he knew that his legs would give in quite soon. Hastily, almost in panic, Italy pointed to the canvas he had just covered up with a cloth, biting down on his lower lip to prevent himself from crying.

But this was… this was too much to take.

America had just said…

He _truly_ meant it…

Alfred, feeling a bit unsure, moved towards the canvas, terribly confused. "This…? what about this? what does this have to do with…"

Italy gulped down, and motioned for the other nation to take away the cloth, still trembling; when America let go of his hand, he curled it to his chest, missing the warmth.

As America uncovered his painting, the same painting he had worked on for hours, pouring his entire soul into it, Italy slid on the ground, not knowing how to take the whole rush of emotions slamming inside his brain, and simply watched.

America hesitated, then took the grey cloth away…

And stared, speechless.

It was a painting of him. of America, of Alfred… of both Nation and human.

The Alfred painted was standing still, and was dressed in that familiar, old revolutionary soldier clothing America had been so fond of, in the past, ripped and dirty and worn down, and yet so accurate in every little detail. The buttons on the shirt, some ripped, badly sewn back together, showing the skin underneath… the napes on the shoulders, the golden laces, everything.

Realistic, ruined yet clearly cared for.

Then, his face. Ruffled hair, no eyeglasses, and a smile, bright and powerful, a smile America never knew he could have… filled with pride, but with pain etched in the lines around the eyes, which were blue and open and happy.

Behind him, behind the Alfred of the painting, there was a beautiful sight of New York –present time New York as seen from the sea, with the Statue on the right, bright and realistic, and on the left, where the city vanished away into the corner of the painting, there was a shadow of a presence that felt like the watcher.

The America of the painting was holding a huge flag with one hand –the handle was golden and brown, and half made of old wood, and the flag fabric was old, ripped and dirty next to the handle, but then, as the flag wrapped around his figure, it turned shining new and bright, and clean and…

And the Alfred in the painting was holding out an open hand to the watcher, to the painter, and smiling, beaming almost, right at _him_.

Alfred exhaled slowly, feeling tears pool in his eyes.

This was America, and Alfred, and even something more, something _deeper_–

It was… it was _beautiful_. He could feel the amount of time, of emotions Italy had devoted to this painting, the happiness, the need to show all of Alfred in that single painting, the past he never forgot but that he let go of, at peace, growing from it, learning… the present that made him what he was –one of the strongest nations ever.

His pride, his love for all his Nation represented by his stance, his position, his eyes… no matter how many problems his people had… all those things he had wanted to represent for his humans, everything was in that painting.

And most of all, Alfred could see the love.

He knew that Italy had painted this for him. just like he had asked, Italy had poured his heart into that painting, his soul, his everything…

Clearly showing Alfred that Feliciano understood him –understood every side of him. Completely.

"Oh, Feliciano…"

He didn't need to hear those words for the present moment, because all the proof he needed was there, in that gift.

Alfred shifted next to the crying Italian, flopping down in front of him; with a warm smile, he grabbed his cheeks with both hands and leaned forwards, stopping a few inches away to breathe a soft "I love you…" before finally joining lips with him.

The kiss was soft and warm and breathless, it made America's fingers tingle pleasantly, it made Italy's tears dry out, and his body stop trembling. It made America groan, tasting Italy, tasting ancient and new, breathing in his scent, basking in the feeling of those smooth lips against his…

Divine.

It made Italy finally move, wrapping hands around America's shoulders, tightening the grasp, deepening the kiss, holding him as if the world was about to end.

Sobbing and kissing.

They separated only when breathing became a necessity, few important seconds to take quick gulps of air and then move to kiss again and again, lips joining, melting together, holding onto each other and giving their everything, mutual feelings burning strong.

What felt like centuries later, Italy let his head fall into the crook of America's neck, snuggling closer, unable to still believe what had happened –that America was _his_, and he was _America's_, and it was really happening and it was not a _dream_– and America held tightly on him, eyes wide open and staring at the sky outside the large window, feeling utterly at peace and sated and completely, absurdly _happy_.

Maybe it was ok to not move for a little while more, and just hold onto Italy's body, next to a happily mewling cat, and a beautiful painting.

He'd gained more than he could ever hope to have. It was mind boggling, but he was _happy_.

On the other side of the door, carefully hiding from the two lovebirds, Romano scratched his chin, vaguely embarrassed, and left to call Spain –he knew the tomato fucker was probably awake watching some Grey's Anatomy's rerun on the satellite, and would enjoy some gossip.

Maybe later on he would also call Canada, as he deserved to know. It ended well. It was worth it, he thought.

Back in the studio, America was kissing Italy again, and they were laughing, holding onto each other, staring at the small cat trying to coax them into petting her –for them, it was just starting.

……………………………………………

**StarsofYaoi:** that's it. The end. :) thank you again for reading this, and for reviewing! The sequel will take a while to get up, and you're not forced to read it. It will be mostly about pre–birth and post–birth, so there won't be anything disgusting about it, I swear. (besides, Hetalia is one of the few fandoms that can get away with male pregnancy, since they are not humans…)

Anyway, goodbye, everybody! (anyone wants me to tackle another strange pairing, like for example, England/Italy or Russia/Italy? Or Spain/Italy… Canada/Italy?)


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